Web Of Deceit
by Sister Cuervo
Summary: AU BTVS in the Neo-Noir. Now Complete XA BS Memories can be tricky things, and sometimes a P.I. doesn't know who to trust
1. Night Train to Sunnydale

Web of Deceit   
  
Summary: AU in the BTVS, Neo-Noir. Part 3 in the casebook of Alexander Harris, PI. Xander finds that things are not always what they seem and memories can be tricky things  
Rating: R naughty language/violence; archaic actions and reactions to be expected.  
Disclaimer: ALl characters, living & undead, property of Joss the Great and Powerful, ME, WB, Fox etc. Just for fun, honest. Shouts to Firesign Theatre and Raymond Chandler and a few other folks.  
  
Sequel to: Dangerous Curves (2) and Demons Are My Business (1) 

* * *

  
Within the dark underbelly of the city lies a singular place. A place hidden away from the light in the dimmest recesses of the back alleys, far from the friendly reach of the sun, wrapped in the velvet darkness of Film Noir. Shadows hold friends and foes, creatures blessed and damned. It is the Big Nowhere, sordid and enigmatic. Put on some cool jazz, fix a dry martini and fall into the alternate reality of Sunnydale after dark.  
  


* * *

  
  
Prologue---Night Train to Sunnydale  
  
Monday early morning--2:00 a.m.  
December 18th  
  
Trouble always seems to find me. That's what my clients pay me for. It says so, right there on my business cards.  
  
I kind of wanted something classy in Latin with a spiffy magnifying glass logo, but my usual clients weren't going to impressed, so I stuck with simple:  
  
Alexander Harris  
Confidential Investigations  
Your Eye For Trouble  
  
  


* * *

  
Sometimes life is just one damned thing after another and all you can do is catch a fast train to somewhere that's not here. That's what I'd done.   
  
  
I told my girl I was taking the case up in the north because it paid well, but the truth was, I just needed to get the hell off the Hellmouth for a while. Nothing had been the same since we'd gotten back from Arashmahar, and there were things that needed thinking about..  
  
Things like whether I could could face living my life with a sweet canary like Anyanka. Sweet yeah, but she wasn't going to stop being what she was--a vengeance demon. Things like whether I wanted to keep putting my life on the line for people who weren't really people at all. Protect and serve, that used to be our motto, back in the P.D. I mean, I started out as a pretty square copper in L.A., then things started getting screwy. It hasn't stopped either.  
  
Back in November, for instance. Zombies, mad scientists, hell dimensions. One damned thing after another, see? Too much.  


* * *

  
I decided the smartest thing to do was to take this little out-of-town job just outside of Visalia running down some missing jewelry for a sweet little old lady. A normal job for a regular shmoe like me. Just get away from this godforsaken place. Do a little thinking away from everything and everybody.  
  
I did get the diamonds back and a nice little bit of cash from a grateful dame, but there's always a monster in the picture somewhere, even away from home sweet hellmouth.   
  
Long story short, the little old lady forgot to mention the brownies. Oh no, not the cute kind and I've got the bite marks to prove it. Nasty little shit- colored brutes swarming on me like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. But like I said, that's a whole nother story.  
  
About the time I was mashing the last of the brownies back into a greasy smear on the pavement, I realized that it didn't much matter whether I was in Visalia or Los Angeles, because trouble was going to find me wherever I was. I bought a ticket on the night train and started for home. I'd done a lot of hard thinking while I was up north in between chasing that flock of sewer rats around town.  
. I'd figured out between the bandages and the iodine was that the great philopher was right--no matter where you go, there you are. I also knew where I was needed. Home, on the Hellmouth, again.   


* * *

  
I must have dozed off for a while, because when I opened my eyes the train was rattling to a stop at the Sunnydale station. Didn't look any different than it had three weeks ago.  
I didn't figure Sunnydale had changed much. Same old Hellmouth. See, I should have known better than to even think that. I should have known things were off the second I stepped down from the train onto the empty platform. That's part of my job. To notice things.  
  
At the time, all I noticed was the ice-cold wind creeping under the tail of my overcoat. A damned cold wind. Frosty enough for a little Christmas snow. There were colored lights decorating the palm trees and big red bows on the parking meters. Extremely festive. The station was locked up tight and there were no phones anywhere outside. I threw an ineffective curse in the direction of Rob's Auto Service. Rob was holding my beloved DeSoto for ransom. Jeez, I only owed him a measly couple of of hundred bucks.  
  
I shivered and pulled my fedora down and overcoat tighter and wondered if I'd ever had a muffler. No sense kicking about hard luck and busted transmissions. There wasn't a cab to be seen anywhere around. Not too surprising, considering it was after two a.m. on a Sunday night.  
  
My valise felt like it was loaded with bricks instead of my dirty underwear. Not a creature was stirring. Even the Boogie Man is Californian. Probably all the bad little monsters were snuggled up in their cozy little crypts with visions of Sandy Claws in their evil little heads. Standing around moping wasn't gonna get me home though. It was gonna be a long, cold walk home.  
  
I'd trudged six blocks toward my apartment with my valise dragging me down like a sea anchor. My knees hurt, my back was killing me and my ankle ached from a nasty brownie bite. I could seethe corner of my block just up ahead. And that the street lights were going dark, one by one.  
That's when I realized I wasn't alone, and around here, that's never a good thing.  
  
Music: Harlem Nocturne David Sandborn from   
  



	2. Hunter

Chapter Two--- Hunter   
  
I could feel something, out there in the dark. Hard years in hostile situations when Oz and I were on the force in L.A. had honed my sixth sense for trouble. I waited. The feeling didn't go away. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. The only light came from the faint stars and the pale glow of strings of Christmas lights wrapped around the now useless light poles.  
  
My senses were screaming at me to run. Run hard, fast and not quit until it was daylight and the thing out there was heaved back into whatever hellhole it'd crawled out of. I fought the feeling, wrestled it down into submission. I tried to keep my breathing even and the adrenaline from screaming through my blood. Maybe he'd get bored and lose interest. Yeah, right.  
  
I knew what had to be out there--a vampire. You never run from vampires. They're smart, fast and bonus points, never need to breathe. I used my brain instead, casually working my way toward a pile of broken pallets on a loading dock . Just the right size for a stake, if you knew how to use one. And I did. I'd learned from the best, but she wasn't around to save me this time. Just me, up against the wall.  
  
I could hear footsteps on the roof above, and a patter of loose tiles as he rushed toward me. He'd been waiting up there for me to make my move and now he was behind me. He wanted me to know he was up there, just for the fun of it. I thought I had an even chance and took it, lunging toward the wood pile. I wasn''t fast enough.  
  
The hit came from behind. So quick I didn't have time to take a breath. I felt the wind whistle,and a rush of movement followed by the leaden thump of his boots colliding with my back. I felt my ribs cave from the force of the blow and then I was tumbling headlong in the wrong direction, away from the makeshift stakes and into the empty street.  
  
I caught myself on a darkened streetlight, my shoes crunching on the broken glass surrounding the base. A few drops of blood oozed from my knuckles where I'd grazed them on the concrete. Half the streetlights were dark now. Briarcliff Road was going dark in front of me as I watched. One by one, the lights disappeared in a shower of hot glass and a flash of sparks. I was running out of luck.  
  
My heart was tripping like a jackhammer. I knew he could hear my heart thudding out there where he waited for me in the blackness. The hunter was taking his time, drawing out the chase, tasting my fear. I didn't think he was some orphan fledge, ignorant of the Law. I doubted it was a rebellious minion playing games, either.   
  
This was something Old and dangerous and wild. He didn't give a damn about the Accords, the Law or anything but the hunt and the blood. I caught a glimpse of something moving, then it was gone.  
The vampire was just one more shadow in a wilderness of dark, wrapped in black leather wings, ghosting along behind me silent as an owl.  
  
Suddenly I could see the dark outline of my apartment building just ahead. There was Kitty's Greek Superette and Abdullah's Ribs & Eggrolls, all decked out with ribbons and lights. I started inching my way toward the safety of my apartment, catching glimpses of movement out of the corner of my eye. I swung the valise by one hand, hoping to use its weight as a defense, still looking for something---anything--I could use as a weapon.   
  
Where the Hell was the Slayer when you needed her?  
Once I almost turned around, but I kept walking steadily. It was pitch black underneath the overhangs, the shops and restaurants closed and dark. Only the yellow glow from my apartments entryway gave me any sense of direction in the gloom.  
  
The vamp had moved closer again, letting me see glimpses of him leaping from rooftop to black rooftop, the leather coat flapping around him. I heard him drop down behind me into the street. I picked up the pace for all the good it would do me, slipping my mostly useless revolver out of the shoulder holster. It wouldn't kill him, but it might slow him down long enough for me to get inside.  
  
A trash can leaped under my feet out of nowhere, sending me sprawling to the pavement, then careening face first into a pile of damp cardboard boxes full of discards from the market next door to my building. My gun was behind me somewhere under the scattered contents of my valise.  
  
I lay there, stunned for the moment, trying to dislodge my hands from a box of slimy lettuce. It felt like i'd cracked a couple of ribs and my hands were stinging. I rolled over in my stinking nest and took a deep breath. The pitch-black alley rang with silence, as though the night had taken a breath.  
Silence.   
Less than three feet away was my nemesis. I could see the ruby button of his cigarette sizzling in the inky blackness of the alley, then it spiraled toward my legs. Sparks exploded entirely too close to important points south and I batted at the smoldering fabric frantically.   
I backed up against the wall and scrambled to my feet. If I was going to die, I didn't want to do it laying in a pile of moldy garbage with my balls toasted extra-crispy. I hoped Anyanka would miss me when I was dead, cos it sure didn't look like Mother Harris' little boy was gonna survive the night.  
  
The alley was empty of evil vampires, apparently, and I was within fifty feet of the safe haven of the lobby. The menacing figure had gone, for whatever reason, and I was damned glad of it.   
I felt sick and shaken to the depths of my soul, but I took the chance I was offered and bolted like a lunatic inside the lobby. Safe, at least for now. I slammed the glass door and looked outside.   
  
Across the street was a figure, half hidden under the overhanging awning of Abdullah's. It was Spike, his silvery head incandescent in the remaining lamplight and the faint blue glow of Christmas lights on the wreath inside the restaurant window. He stood there for a what seemed like hours, still as only the dead can be.   
  
He looked toward me and then turned on his heel, his head held high and disdainful. I blinked again and the figure was gone as though it had never existed.  
  
It looked like the magic we'd done in Arashmahar was coming back to bite us on the ass with a vengeance.   
  
tbc   
Music: Break & Enter The Prodigy


	3. Puzzle Pieces

Chapter Three--Puzzle Pieces  
  
Monday morning, December 18, 6:00 a.m.  
  
I gave up on sleep round about daybreak. My brain was fuzzy and my mouth tasted like I'd licked an ashtray. The thought of pounding a gallon of java at the Nighthawk was the only thing I could think of to make the brain cells kick into gear. Wasn't like I was gonna get anymore sleep and I was all out of smokes.  
  
It was too late or rather too early to be calling anyone, and besides that, what was I supposed to say? Oh by the way, Slayer, remember your boyfriend the vampire? Well, he's come over all evil. Nah, that wasn't gonna cut it.  
  
Back in L.A. when Oz and I had worked the night shift, we'd seen some real weird shit. I'd been scared too,but this though, this was bothering me. I'd had about enough of my so-called friends turning up dead or evil. I got up , had a shower and picked through the ashtray for a smokeable butt. I gave that up for lost and headed to the Nighthawk for breakfast.  
  
  
I'd worked my way through most of the Lumberjack Platter and started thinking about making time with Imogene the waitress, when I heard a voice hissing in my ear.   
  
  
  
  
The voice was followed by his familiar rabbity mug. He had his head ducked down under the up-turned collar of his coat and a pair of big black sunglasses completed his disguise. Subtly, thy name is Andrew.  
  
Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, get the hell away from me, you slimy bastard.  
  
Now, now, Mr. Harris. Is that any way to talk to your associates?  
  
You're no associate of mine. I snarled. Figured you were long gone from SunnyHell. Spike know you're still in town?   
  
The Kid blanched whiter than a vamp. Oh yeah, I still had it. If was the power to terrorize rabbits with the mighty power of other people's names.  
  
Andrew was such a pain in the ass, I just couldn't feel sorry for the guy. His left eye twitched, and the hands holding a big manila envelope shook like a gypsy tambourine player. He looked ready to do a flit, but I was feeling a bit mellower as well as curious.   
  
Spill it, kid, I ordered. I was curious, but that didn't mean I had to be nice to him.  
  
I need protection, Mr. Harris, he murmured, cringing down to eye level, shifty eyes skittering around the room. He took off the cheaters and waved to Imogene for a cup of joe. She ignored him.  
  
I muttered, a nice, noncommittal answer. He eyed me some more, slithering closer toward me. He'd be in my lap soon. What's the problem?  
  
He jerked back as if he were scalded. I'd rather not say. I let that go for a minute and made another sound to keep him yapping.  
  
Tell ya what, kiddo. Grab a seat. I'm all ears.   
  
I watched him squirm around, slithering awkwardly into the booth, all elbows and ankles. His heavy leather coat twisted and tangled around his long legs as he half fell into the booth. There were fat beads of sweat on his face, despite the icy weather. He wasn't faking his fear.   
He choked up and muttered something, thrusting the envelope at me. Inside were well worn articles from the Sunnydale paper, taped together and livid with red circles and arrows drawn on a dozen stories. Spidery writing in the margins added to the illegibility.  
  
What the...Just what am I supposed to see? I ran an eye down the columns.  
  
He wriggled excitedly and leaned even closer to me, his fingertip roaming up and down the columns he pushed toward me. See? And right here?  
  
Let's see, Missing pets. You interrupted my breakfast because your poodle took a powder....  
  
Yes! I mean, no! I mean, just look, okay? He begged, See? Right here.  
  
I checked out the dates. The articles went back about a month ago.   
The articles were an interesting mix. Assaults, burglary, suspicious fires, prowlers, more missing pets. I don't get it. What's the connection? This is nothing but...  
  
Look. See, the dates...it's so obvious!  
  
Make it simple for me.  
  
Andrew wet his lips and mumbled something. He's a shifty little gunsel, but he's smart. He finally blurted it out.  
  
Spike. He's out prowling around all night. Acting real funny.  
  
He's a funny guy.  
  
Oh, that pissed him off. Not big on the jokes, our Andrew. That's not what I meant and you know it. You won't think it's so funny when he...  
  
He didn't finish the sentence, but I had a bad feeling I knew the end of it. I already knew what he was talking about. Attacks by wild animals, missing persons...starting in November. You'd have to be asleep to miss the connection. I was suddenly wide awake.  
  
Andrew's eyes got wild for a minute and I remembered he was a warlock of sorts. He looked outside at the rapidly brightening sunshine reflecting on the parked cars.   
  
He looked at me again, like he was trying hard to remember his manners then grabbed up the clippings and crammed them back in the envelope angrily.  
There's something missing from him. No...that's not it. I mean, it's like he's not there anymore, y'know? Not alive.  
  
I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud, startling the beefy trucker parked in the back booth snoozing over a plate of ham and eggs. Andrew gave me his best kicked puppy look and stood up to go. I grabbed the lumpy envelope from him and shoved it under my plate.  
  
I don't have to stand here and be insulted...  
  
That all ya got, then, kid?  
  
It's enough, isn't it? So, do I get the Slayer's protection, or what? Andrew snapped. You owe me. He turned and glared at the Nighthawk's bleary patrons, then turned toward me with a glower.  
  
I snorted at that. Take a word of advice, kid. If you've got any sense, you'll get away from Sunnydale while you're able. I looked around the restaurant and laughed, startling the trucker again. You and everybody else.  
  
tbc  
  
Music: Good Morning Blues Leadbelly   
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Down on Crawford Street

Chapter Four--Down on Crawford Street  
  
Late Afternoon, Monday December 16  
  
Buffy'd had a real run of bad luck with the men in her past, poor girl. But Andrew did have a point, even if it was just to save his own worthless hide. The Slayer needed to know what the score was.  
The cabbie dropped me off in front of the house on Crawford Street. I wondered why she still hung on to this reminder of the late, unlamented Mr. Giles. Maybe she liked it.  
  
The house was spectacular. It was one of those palatial Hollywood Moderne, nouveau riche mansions. An odd, cantilevered building, all long lines and terraces, it sat way back off the street, hidden from the prying eyes of the curious, sprawled behind a screen of live oaks and manicured hedges. It took a pile of mazuma and a good deal of hired help to keep a place this size running. Her late husband must have been rolling in it before he came over all demony. There was a cream colored Rolls Royce parked in the driveway and something sleek and foreign being polished to a mirror finish by a lanky guy in a gray wool chauffeur's uniform. I gave him the high sign, but he ignored me.  
  
I leaned on the button again. A smart looking maid with a twinkle in her eye answered the door and took my hat and coat. The interior was all big, open spaces with spectacular skylights that drenched the house with winter sun. Pale modern furniture scattered around the rooms, wall-to-wall white carpeting that looked like fresh snow in Aspen. Gold rimmed mirrors reflected the pale sea of creamy ivory and tables full of fresh flowers in crystal vases--it looked like a showcase. Stark and cold, really, like a museum. I wondered how she could stand it.  
  
I followed the maid's swaying uniform through the sunny hallways and high-ceilinged rooms to a conservatory in the far reaches of the house. I felt myself breaking into a sweat as soon as I stepped through the doors. The glass house was steamy and full of soft green ferns and orange trees in planters. Orchids and fleshy exotic plants nodded in brick niches along the wall, perfuming the room with a sickening kind of musky perfume. I pushed through the jungle to a little clearing bathed in light.   
  
Mrs. Giles was sitting on a low lounge chair overlooking a sunken pool area. She was wearing creamy silk trousers and a pale cashmere sweater that matched the blue stuccoed walls. Her sister, Dawn, was swimming laps around the turquoise tiled perimeter of the pool. Buffy glanced at her sister and smiled.  
  
I hated to disturb such a pleasant scene.  
  
Mrs. Giles uncrossed her legs and turned to me with a question in her eyes.  
December is a cruel month.  
  
Mr. Harris. Xander...won't you have a seat? She motioned me to another rattan lounger upholstered in a muted tropical print. Would you like a coffee or...   
  
My mind was blank. I really didn't have much to go on except an overactive case of nerves and a two-bit warlock's case of the shivers. I took the coffee she handed me and stirred it just to get a long second to think it over.  
  
Listen, Mrs. Giles, we need to talk. Her face froze in a rictus grimace pretending to be a smile. I hated what I was doing, but it had to be done. Mrs. Giles--Buffy--I've got bad news.  
  
She made a faint sound, almost like a laugh and shrugged her shoulders, Is there any other kind?  
  
Look, there's no easy way to say this. It's Spike.  
  
I floundered around trying to cushion it a little. The perfume from the orchids was suffocating me. Have you seen him? Last night, maybe?  
  
She leaned her head back against the soft cushions and whispered, I haven't talked to him in nearly a month, Xander. Not since...   
  
I finished. She nodded once and stared into the pool. Her sister methodically stroked laps in the heated pool, her lithe body flickering through the blue water. Buffy shifted toward me, a shaft of sunlight illuminating her hair, turning it to gold. Her eyes were strained and dark-shadowed under the porcelain glaze of her careful makeup.  
  
Walk with me, please. She led me through the glass doors into the cold afternoon gardens, down a raked sand pathway toward a dry fountain where mermaids and naked cupids frolicked with dolphins.  
  
I hate this place. I'd like to burn it to the ground and salt the earth. She looked around the decorative hedges trimmed into fantastic shapes and the long rows of now-brown flower beds blindly, as though she were seeing into the gates of Hell itself.  
  
I wondered if she ever went back to the little house on Revello Drive. I didn't know what to say, so I kept my trap shut and kept walking beside her. She stopped and looked up at the cavorting putti with something like resignation.  
  
He seemed all right at first,but then it was like he'd forgotten everything about who he was. Who I was. He didn't know Dawn. He ignored her, like she didn't exist. I haven't even seen him in weeks.  
  
That, in itself was wrong. He'd never strayed far from the Slayers high heels, even when her hellish husband was hot on their trail.  
  
I remembered how he acted right after the resurrection in Arashmahar. Chilly, polite and violent. At the time, I'd written it off to D'Hoffyrn's magic or being doped up with poison by the zombie's master. Now, I had to wonder if my little warlock pal was on the right track. Something was hinky, all right. I plunged on and told her everything about last night. Her eyes flashed angrily, but when I showed her Andrew's little collection, she was in a fury.  
  
She was trying to be matter of fact about this, but it was affecting her.  
  
I'd planned on calling you this morning anyway, Xander. I want to show you something I found this morning.  
  
The sunny gardens seemed to get dark all of a sudden, like a cloud was passing overhead, but the sky was clear California blue. Next to the fountain was a small shape, covered in a dark cloth. She strode toward it, her heels leaving sharp hollows in the sand of the pathway. And pulled the cloth away like a conjurer.  
  
Today's gift.  
  
Oh God. Andrew's poodle. Well, most of it. It wasn't missing anymore.  
  
  
tbc  
Music: Vangelis, Blush Response from the Bladerunner soundtrack


	5. Miss Me, Kiss Me

Chapter Five --Miss Me, Kiss Me  
December 18, Monday   
  
It was past five o'clock and there was a sheen of ice on the low ground. Tonight was going to set records for cold weather.   
The streets were empty and the smart money was on curling up with a cozy armful and a cold glass of Kentucky's best. I've never been able to play it smart. I couldn't let another day pass by without trying to find out was going on not just for the Slayer, but for me, too.  
I'd caught a couple of hours of shuteye at the office and dropped by the bank to toss a few simoleans into the vault. Now my feet found themselves heading toward the place I was dreading to go. I knew putting it off wasn't going to make it any easier.  
  
One of the minions let me in the back way and I found my self standing, hat-in-hand, outside Anyanka's dressing room door. I could hear her inside, moving around, perfume bottles clinking softly together and her voice muttering the lyrics to one of her numbers. I raised my hand to knock, when the door opened on her surprised face.  
  
Alexander Harris. Well. She'd never looked better, her delicious curves bursting from the confines of her blue velvet dressing gown.  
  
Hey baby, I wheedled, I'm back. She gave me the Glare that promised Vengeance, but let me inside anyway. I knew better than to go for the kissing right away.  
  
So, how've you been, sweetie? Everything fine here while I've been gone? No problems?  
  
Her eyes narrowed and she slammed a drawer full of silk stocking shut, Fat lot you care, Harris. I could have been dead and buried for all you knew. Jerk! She glared at me again with her hands on her hips.  
  
Ah, baby, you know I couldn't stay away from you for long. You knew I was coming back. She reached around behind her looking for something heavy to throw. I hoped it wasn't going to be a curse. I made a pre-emptive strike, and pulled the long black velvet box out of my pocket.  
  
I know it's not much, but...   
  
She dropped the cheap clown statuette she'd wound up to pitch at my head and snatched the box out of my outstretched paws. Her eyes lit up and she turned to me with a wide white smile.  
  
Oh Xander, honey, you remembered! I thought fast and stammered out something I hoped was the right answer. Wonder what the occasion was?  
  
How could I forget, Anya? You know I'm crazy about you, baby! I made my move and pulled her unresisting into my arms. She was busy clasping the bracelet around her wrist and still smashing her red lips to mine.   
  
Things might have gotten warmer but Little Head Ted, the stage manager, shouted though the door, Ten minutes, Miss Anyanka!   
  
She gave me a shove into the armchair and started flinging clothes in all directions.  
Sasha says there's some Hollywood hotshots in the audience tonight. Go out front and wait for me Xander. We'll go to my place and celebrate after the show. I'll make my specialty. I shivered inwardly. Vengeance Demon Specialty de Maison. Gah. I'd worry about that later.  
  
Anya honey, I'm on a job and I might not...  
  
Tonight. Later! Right now, get out! She giggled and shoved me out into the hallway.  
I hadn't had a chance to warn her about Spike, but she was a big girl. And, well, she was a demon.  
  
  
I grabbed a seat near the stage and took a gander at the band warming up. I wanted to at least catch her first number before I took off. Her band was a new one, all decked out in black tuxedos. A skinny fellow, human I think, was giving the ivories what for and there was a cat blowing the clarinet like nobody's business. But then, the curtains opened and all I could see was Anyanka.  
  
She slithered across the stage, wrapped up tight in a yellow taffeta gown and crooning a tune guaranteed to raise the lust-o-meter of every red-blooded male in the room, especially mine. There's nothing like her, anywhere.  
  
I took a breath while the clarinetist wailed out his solo and sized up out the room. It was early for Demontown to really get jumping, but there were still a few customers eager to catch the show.   
  
At the very last table sat an intriguing figure in a custom-made Italian suit. He held a portable telephone in one hand and puffed on a fat black Cuban stogie with the other. He looked familiar, but then anyone wearing a suit that shade of red with bright green skin would stick out in a crowd. Wait a minute...I knew those horns.  
  
It was coming back to me now. The guy was Lorne Krevlorneswath, head of DeathWok Studios. He wasn't in a little bar in the middle of nowhere for his heath. He was scouting talent and he had his eye on Anya. I'd heard about him. He liked fresh faces, liked to groom them for stardom and maybe a little more than that.  
  
I had to scram out of the Stake and on with the investigation. Anya would have to deal with that big bad wolf by herself this evening. But this business with Spike had to be dealt with right away.  
  
tbc  
Music: Billie Holliday, I Don't Stand a Ghost of A Chance


	6. Rumpus at the Alibi

Chapter Six--Rumpus at the Alibi  
  
December 18  
Monday evening   
  
There's always a bad part of any town, and in Sunnydale, they call that bit Demontown. It's just a couple of square blocks of hot sheet hotels and third rate apartments surrounded by seedy bars. You know, the kind of places you wouldn't take your mother unless she was a demon. Or my mother, but that's another story, too.  
  
It doesn't get any seedier than Willy's Alibi Bar. The joint was jumping tonight, and there was a new bartender swabbing the counter with a greasy rag. I snagged a seat at the bar and caught one of it's eyes. It had quite a few to spare.  
  
Long clawed fingernails rested on the counter in front of me and he goggled at me with bloodshot pop-eyes. We don't serve your kind in here, human. He exhaled eau-de-salmon in my face along with a heaping teaspoon of saliva. I tried to hold down my gorge.  
  
I'm not here for the ambiance, fish-breath. Get Willy.  
  
He delivered a few choice curse words, finishing up with the ever-popular, Fuck you.  
  
Where's Willy? I looked dead in the gaping maw of mossy teeth and suppressed another shudder. Septic, nasty, ready-to-give-me-gangrene teeth. I really didn't want to fight with this one, but I might have to make an exception. I gave it my best lethal glare. Finally he shrugged and knocked off the attitude. Most of it, anyway.  
  
A toothpick wobbled rhythmically between the hedge of uneven tooth stumps. It coughed up a huge gob of mucus onto the bar rag. Who wants to know, asshole? The malaria-yellow skin was unappetizing, matched only by the greasy ringlets it was using to mop it's dripping nose. I had it pegged as a Hackler. You don't see them much out on the west coast.  
  
Tell him Xander Harris is back in town.   
  
Seven or eight bulging eyes rolled around like dice at a Vegas crap table. It was kinda hard to tell if it was looking at me or keeping a eye on the television screen. Looked like cage match wrestling was still a favorite amongst the fellowship of Willy's.  
It wouldn't do me any good to loose my temper, but I was getting a little hot under the collar. There was a bellow of delight from the patrons when something huge and slimy was dispatched inside the cage on the screen. The bartender swiveled his peculiar head and burbled something as it disappeared through a hidden wall panel.  
  
I stared into the fly-specked mirror over the bar, counting the unmarked bottles and mentally tallying the number of non-reflecting clientele. Quite a few I could do without seeing, too.   
  
There was a pause in the shrieking action on the small screen and the room seemed to break for breath, all at the same time. A glass hit the floor and rolled in the deathly silence. Heads turned toward me and I could hear high fidelity music swinging on the jukebox. I turned my head to the left slowly.  
  
Spike was standing in the center of the floor, game face in place and his arms loose and ready. He turned his head and gave the room the once over, the dim neon striking red sparks from the electric white of his hair.  
  
I turned around on the bar stool and faced him.   
  
He looked me up and down with no change of expression, like I was invisible. Hard, demon eyes stared at me. No mercy in those shards of ice, no mercy and no life. Whatever we'd resurrected in Arashmahar wasn't the same Spike that'd fought beside me. I was sorry. I had lIked that guy.  
  
He sauntered closer to me, the tiny muscles in his jaw working under a strain. He tilted his head and looked at me carefully, like a bug under a microscope.  
  
  
  
Then I felt the tiny hairs on the back of my neck crawling. His mouth cracked a fraction and he smiled. If it'd been a real smile, that would be one thing. But this.... this was a leer. The pink tip of his pointed tongue slipped out to moisten his lower lip and a hot trickle of sweat made its way through the layers of cotton under my arms. He moved closer, so close I could feel the leather coat slap against my thighs. I was frozen, too afraid to move a muscle.   
  
He inhaled sharply and turned his face toward mine, Harris, he repeated in a whisper, Heard you were looking for me.   
  
I tried to think of something smart to say, but my brain was with my feet, frozen in place. He inhaled again, then ran his hands under the lapels of my overcoat. He raised a black brow and said sardonically, What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?  
  
I was saved from making a complete jackass out of myself by a welcome interruption.  
  
There was a rumble in the room, a low growl punctuated by the television and the jukebox. Some of the smaller denizens of Willy's vacated the premises, skittering up the grimy stairs for easier places to be. A few of the brawnier types huddled together in angry knots, pointedly glaring in my direction.  
  
Hiya doin', Harris? Spike? Willy babbled. His nervous voice was music to my ears. Whaddya have, boys? Special on the Bloody Mary's. On the house! he grinned nervously at the vampire and nattered on unstoppably. Something about chicken fingers and onions. Spike wasn't paying any attention. I could see a boiling fury building up toward an eruption.  
  
The bar owner's squeaky voice trailed off as the vampire's golden eyes lowered in his direction. Someone's been telling tales out of school, Willy. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?  
  
He stuttered, You know Old Willy's safe as houses. Quiet Old Willy. I don't know nuthin', honest! He voice trailed off into the suddenly quiet room, the only sound the soft mutter of the television announcer.  
  
Spike seemed to consider that for a moment, then whirled to the jukebox squatting in the corner. He slammed a fist down into its glittery innards with a spectacular shower of hot glass and electricity. It jump-started and a disk flapped down on the turntable.  
  
Somebody's saying things, Willy. I don't like it.  
  
Not me, Spike. I swear! Honest.  
  
I stood there, keeping quiet, taking it all in, invisible. The record skipped and the same phrase looped over and over...the boogie man... the boogie man....  
Spike muttered to himself, leaning head down against the jukebox, his arms wrapped around the broken machine. Odd, very strange indeed.  
  
  
  
About that time, a couple of the bigger demons decided it was time to make a move on Spike, grabbing him from behind while a pimply faced vampire pulled a stake. He erupted into an almost invisible killing machine, unscrewing the vampire's head before the horrified eyes of the bar patrons. I ducked for cover behind the bar with Willy. I heard something gargling in pain and the crash of shattering furniture.   
  
The fight was nasty, brutish and over in a very short time. Willy's pool table would never be the same. The demons were stretched out in groaning piles on the floor, alive, if not kicking. It was a bloody mess and F'Yarl blood is a bitch to get out of carpets. Guess that's why Willy doesn't have any.  
  
Spike was nowhere to be seen. The room felt like someone'd opened an airlock in a vacuum. There was a sigh of relief running around the room. Willy was sticky with relief. I wasn't much better. I looked toward the back door, swinging drunkenly on broken hinges.  
  
  
  
Willy stared toward the empty doorway, his bar rag moving in random circles on the bar. Damn, Harris, he wheezed, like it was all my fault. I glared at him. What the hell did he think I could have done except get myself really dead? He reconsidered and gazed around the ruined and empty bar. This has been going on for a while.  
  
Spike had always been a bruiser, but Willy meant the lack of appreciative audience cheering on the combat. Eerie, really.  
  
It's weird, man. See, I got my ear to the road, but I still don't know what going on.  
Somethin' out there, Harris. Somethin' bad. Demons, they call it a shadow harvester. I dunno rightly what it is, but it's been doin' some damn nasty things.   
  
I didn't like the sound of this. Willy continued, one eye on the wrestling match on the television.   
  
See, most everybody figures it's him. Spike. He flipped the rag over his shoulder and retreated toward his hidden room. Y'want my advice, stay clear of it all.  
  
I threw a couple of sawbucks on the bar and nodded in agreement. Willy didn't know anything more than I did. Call me suicidal, but I had to figure out what the truth was.   
Not just for the Slayer, but for the sake of the guy I used to know.  
  
I tried the coffee shop, swung by a few bars near the docks and Lenny's Fine Meats, but got no joy. Three hours later I was stumbling along in the dark with nothing to show for it but a blister on my heel.  
  
That's when I heard the screaming.  
  
tbc  
  
Music on the jukebox: Boogie Man, Red & the Red Hots from Swing This Baby  
  
AN: Hacklers are nasty troll like creatures. A Shadow Harvester is a manifestation signaling imminent death. See: Supernatural Survival Guide Ted Fauster   



	7. Cafe Luna Sea

Chapter 7: Cafe Luna Sea  
  
Monday night 11:00 p.m.  
  
I ran toward the screaming like a big dumb boob and found myself in front of Cafe Luna Sea, a new outdoor bistro a couple of blocks from the Stake.   
  
Half a dozen teens, both demon and human, huddled in a frightened group, all stiff legged and wide eyed, looking like they were either ready to run or vomit.   
  
A willowy demon boy held a tall human girl wrapped tightly in his arms, both of them sniffling and staring toward the little tables arrayed beyond the delicate iron fence in front of the place. There was no sign of the employees. I shoved past the lovebirds and checked out the scene.  
  
It was definitely a scene, in every sense of the word. I figure the owners had patterned it after one of those hip little French style cafes so popular with the artsy crowd. Somebody was making art, all right. Big, monstrous art that made Dali look like Norman Rockwell.  
  
A auburn haired woman had been propped upright in a little wire chair in the center of the outdoor tables. I recognized her. It was Sasha, Anya's pal from the club.   
  
Grotesquely, she appeared to have dozed off during her coffee, a cigarette still burning in her hand Except that her throat was hanging in bloodless shreds wreathed in smoke from the smoldering cigarette, and something wet and slick had been placed carefully on her shoulder like some monstrous corsage. The remains of her white blouse were stiff with with dark blood from a vertical gash that opened her down the front like buttons on a coat. I could see the white ends of bone protruding through the now bloodless gash.   
  
I brought all the old cop instincts to bear and looked closer. I fought the smell of poor Sasha's opened viscera to burn the details into my brain. The murderer wanted to show me something. He wanted someone to get his message.  
  
Sasha worked at the Stake. Half-demon, snappy dresser,and a friend of Anyanka. A cigarette, burnt to ashes in one hand, a cup with the ice-cold dregs of black coffee in the other; surgically neat incisions and ripping bite marks, nasty and personal. Sasha's red-enameled fingernails were broken and torn and her fingers were folded back, broken, probably post-mortem. One red nailed finger pointed to an article in the neatly folded newspaper. An advertisement for Christmas shopping with a headline that read: Only 7 Days Left! Blood puddled on the newspaper in a sort of design. A signature.  
  
I heard sirens in the distance.  
I slunk back into the shadows before the cops showed up. The last thing I needed was a run in with the law to give the persistent and possibly homicidal Officer Finn an excuse to come sniffling around my office door again.  


* * *

  
I turned the corner back toward downtown and slammed into an unmoving body. He was flattened against the alley wall, furiously drawing on a cigarette, staring out into the velvet darkness. He turned his head and gave me a sour look.  
  
Following me again, Harris? He snarled, Thought you were supposed to be smarter than that?  
  
Yeah, me too. I looked him in the eyes and forced my pulse down.   
  
Yeah, I was. Sometimes my stupidity amazes even me. Where did you go after you left Willy's? Spike's volatile temper went from zero to sixty in nothing flat. He leapt into the pale light from the streetlights and began pacing a narrowing circle around me, snarling.  
  
None of your goddamn business, monkey boy, he bellowed, his hands stiff with fury. Bloody bits! That's what you'd be! I could pluck out your entrails and...  
  
Like you did that girl?  
  
The air froze around me. He stopped the mad pacing and stared at the ground. Then he began the familiar ritual of pocket patting, looking for his pack of smokes and coming up, as usual, with an empty crumpled pack. I shook out one of mine for him. He lit it with the old chrome Zippo. We stood there in the alley smoking in silence for a while. Just like old times. Except this time he might decide to kill me.  
  
There was a subtle shift in the air and I was looking into the yellow demon eyes, feeling the menace and deadly power. Just as suddenly, it was gone. He looked up at me, the baby blues wild with something like fear.  
  
He leaned tiredly against the brick building, looking all of his hundred-some years for an instant. He sucked in a breath of wintry air and exhaled it in a puff, Look, I.. I think there's something wrong. With me. He started pacing again, careening back and forth silently for a moment, trying to decide whether he should say anything more. It's bad, isn't it?  
  
I was at sea here. I won't lie to you, Spike. It looks bad. As bad as it can get.  
  
I'd expected to hear denial or bluster or threats, maybe. Not this lost voice and gaunt, desperate face. Things have been strange.. as if...I'm losing time... He straightened suddenly and began pacing, curling his hands into tight claws,   
  
I'm not sure of..much of anything. Anything but that I'm a demon. Evil. Get it? He seemed unconvinced, even as he said the words, See, it's like there's this wall and I can't get around it or over it or through it, but I know it's there. I know I must have met you. You and I.. we were friends? I trusted you, I think. But... everything else, though... He threw the stub of his cigarette to the ground and turned to me. The Slayer... she knew it from the start. That's why I couldn't be ... near her. Until I can fix it.  
  
I sure as hell couldn't fix anything. This was way out of my league. This was sorcery and black magic and demon stuff. We didn't have Giles or Willow anymore, but we did have Anyanka and my rabbity pal, Andrew.  
  
I didn't want to believe that he'd gone bad, killing innocents and mutilating poodles. But that was his nature: He was a monster, a predator. He fought it, wrestled it into submission every day and every night. But you couldn't escape it. He was, after all, a demon. I decided to play it by my gut. I took a chance.  
  
Yeah, you're a demon and you're a damn good one. You could have killed me a half dozen times, but you didn't. I trust you. I haven't always, but you've never been anything but a square-shooter with me. Now, let's get the hell out of here before Sunnydale's finest decide to show you the dusty end of the stake.  
  
He shot me a cynical glance, Maybe it would be for the best. Maybe some people think that's what ought to happen to monsters like me. Maybe some people would say that's the best thing that could happen to me.  
  
Maybe some people have got it all wrong. Now, quit being a pain in my ass and get moving.  
  
His weary blue eyes betrayed his cool exterior. We headed for the Stake.  
  
Music: David Sandborn, Man from Mars from the album, timeagain


	8. Blonde Ice

Chapter 8- Blonde Ice  
  
Tuesday December 19, just past Midnight  
  
I was getting to know the back entrance to the Stake pretty well by now. Spike and I breezed past LittleHead Ted and into the Slayer's office. Spike glided over to the French doors and contemplated the ice patterns on the windows, stopping to pick out a slender cigarette from a Japanese lacquered box. I just stood around with my hands shoved in my pockets.   
  
I prowled around the room a bit, picking up random objects. Buffy's taste ran to modern stuff, all smooth curves and organic shapes. I was holding a black Pueblo bowl when the door slammed open. The little pot rolled across the soft carpets and came to rest unnoticed under her desk.  
  
The Slayer stepped inside the room and pulled the door shut tightly. A truly fearsome sight, even if you're the innocent party. Her blonde hair shimmered like sunlight on a glacier, drifting smoothly around her shoulders. She leaned against the door, her eyes hard as the mass of diamonds at her throat. Like she figured she already had all the answers and didn't much like what she had.  
  
The silence dragged on for a while uncomfortably. she finally said.  
  
I gave in first, Mrs. Giles, I'm sorry.  
  
She took a deep breath and went to the bar How bad is it?  
  
As bad as it gets. Murder.  
  
She didn't seem surprised. She poured me two fingers of bourbon into a glass full of ice and walked away toward the window. Her diamonds flashed as she moved in jerky, nervous movements.  
  
You want to tell me what happened? She asked his stiff shoulders, Or do we do this the hard way? He was as frozen as a marble sculpture and as responsive.  
  
She swayed back to the bar, her lush curves outlined by the draped chiffon of her ebony gown. She fixed another drink and held it out to him, but he never relented in his contemplation of the frost patterned glass.  
  
Mrs. Giles, I began, Maybe I'd better tell you.   
  
I filled her in on everything, sparing no detail. She paid strict attention, her quick mind leaping to the same conclusions. She hit the intercom button and spoke softly to someone for a few minutes. Spike hadn't moved an inch. Only a blue trickle of smoke moved in the air.  
  
I thought about how much they were alike, she and her consort. Restless, aggressive and faithful to the point of madness. She looked at him and he stared bleakly back. Neither of them said anything for a long minute, long enough to have taken several trains of thought to New York and back. She seemed to have come to some sort of a decision and held out her hand, but he looked back at the floor as though he hoped it might open and swallow it up.  
  
She strode to him and grabbed his arm, turning him around to face her. Look at me, Spike. Talk to me. He voice was as cold as the icy wind blowing through town, Don't you do this. Is what Xander say true? You don't remember?  
What do you expect me to say, Slayer? Some whine and crawl about how bad I feel? Not gonna happen. His eyes were frozen blue. I know what I am. A demon. Blood, glory and sod all else. I don't remember a damned thing.  
  
  
  
Don't you think I'd ...I wish to God that I could remember. He choked out in a low, quiet voice, I feel as though I'm loosing my mind. People... Sometimes I think I should know them... remember them... But there's nothing but bits and pieces.  
  
He raised his head and looked into her harsh gaze, I know we ... you were... we are... something... to each other. Everything else, though... I don't... I'm not sure... what's right or wrong. Whether I did these things, he added defiantly, That's it. take it or leave it. I don't much care one way or the other about now.  
  
He stepped closer to the Slayer and glared at her, You should kill me where I stand. If you knew what I'd done...the things I could do, you'd kill me this instant. Her hard eyes softened for a second, but he didn't let up. I'm nothing but a monster, Buffy.  
  
It was as though the room held it's breath for a long while, then loosed it in a grateful exhale.  
I'm not killing you. End of story, Spike.  
  
He sank into a club chair and buried his face in his hands.  
I can't go on like this. This... every night not knowing, not remembering. Just bloody kill me and be done.  
  
Things change. Things always change. Everyday.  
  
She went to him and curled up on the arm of the leather chair, laying a hand on the mop of unruly white curls. He turned and looked up at the face of his salvation and I had to turn away for a moment. You saved my life. You saved my sister's life. We'll find a way to fix this.   
  
He wouldn't look at her, curving his face away from her. I refuse to believe you were responsible for Sasha's murder. Her voice was commanding, Understand me? I refuse.  
  
I could tell he was fighting a loosing battle. He finally tilted his head up, his eyes wild and full of unshed tears. He turned his face to her palm and kissed her hand. Whatever he had been, whatever he was, there was good in him. A tiny smile began to creep across his ravaged face and he took a gasping breath of air.  
  
I love you, Buffy. I know this one thing, through everything. I know that I love you. I think I've always loved you.  
He lay his head softly into the pillow of their clasped hands.  
  
I walked out onto the little cold balcony and watched the stars flicker over the distant mountains. My breath made white puffs of smoke like smoke rings that dissipated into the darkness. I heard the tap of high heels behind me. It was the Slayer, gliding like a shadow in her silk gown.  
  
She looked toward me, Norman's down front with the car. Go on home and take it easy, Xander. You're exhausted.  
  
Nothing I could say or do mattered right now. Maybe he was nothing but a monster with more blood on his hands than Lady Macbeth. Maybe he wasn't. It was going to have to wait until tomorrow.  
  
I headed down past the stage. Anyanka was on, wrapped like a present from Tiffany's in white silk and blue sequins, her voice smooth as honey, with the crowd in the palm of her hand. I stood and stared at her for a few minutes. I needed her. I wanted to unwrap her and curl up next to her and tell her all those things I'd been putting off. But not until I had a real night's sleep.  
tbc  
  
Music: Warren Hill--Passion Theme _Rare Requests Smooth Jazz III_  
AN: Buffy's gown is Marlene Dietrich's by Jean-Louis from _the Monte Carlo Story_; Anya's is another Jean-Louis, Rita Hayworth's from _Gilda._


	9. Everything Passes

Chapter Nine --Everything Passes  
  
  
December 21, Thursday  
  
Two nights had passed uneventfully. Evidently keeping Spike off the street had been a good idea. The Slayer's garden had been mercifully free of grisly gifts, and no disemboweled corpses had been left with cryptic messages written in blood. Just the regular amount of mayhem and random bloodshed in the darker sections of town.  
  
I'd spent my time calling in favors from everybody I could rib up for info. All my usual stoolies were either clammed up or gone South. Demontown was closed up tight, the only exception being The SIlver Stake. It was looking kinda empty, too. Even the tourist trade seemed to have dropped off. Maybe they were spending the holidays with their little spawn in Omaha.  
  
The smart ones were laying low, hoping the shadow harvester would give them a pass by. Daylight Sunnydale was, as usual, oblivious to most of the goings-on, or maybe a half-demon's murder just didn't matter to them. They were busily spending money and decorating for the holidays.  
  
Andrew had been right. It was a subtle pattern, hints and violence, progressing to Sasha's murder. I had a feeling these last two days of quiet were the lull before the hurricane.  
  
I'd been looking for connections, but nothing really made any sense. Just pointless, random violence. The kind of stuff that used to go on years ago, before the demons were civilized.   
  
I thought back to the night I arrived back in Sunnydale and the hot coal fired at me from the dark. This killer was sending his message all right, loud and clear. I just needed to put the clues together and figure out what our was trying to tell us. He'd made a point of the deadline. Seven days. We were running out of time.   
  
  
  
10:00 pm  
  
I stopped by the office to check my messages. I hadn't talked to Anyanka since Monday. She was probably still pissed about me standing her up the other night, but damn, I hadn't hardly slept in 24 hours. Still felt kinda rocky, if the truth be told.  
  
At least the DeSoto was out of hock thanks to a very generous retainer from Mrs. Giles. Damn good thing, because hoofing it all over Sunnydale ain't what it's cracked up to be.  
I hit the button on the machine and listened to myself yammer on until other people's messages kicked in.  
  
_Please hold for a very important offer _Yeah, right, real special, I bet.  
  
_Harris, got a hot tip on the Canadian playoffs. _ _Call me._ Ummhumm. Maybe later  
  
_ This is your lucky day, Rex Harris_ At least get my frickin' name right! Geez!   
  
Then, it got a whole lot less funny. An unfamiliar male voice purred, low and dangerous out of the cheap speaker.  
  
_ Just thought you needed a little clue, Mr. Harris_ I could hear the holiday music playing over a speaker in the background and a buzzing voice speaking through an intercom.   
He continued,_   
Tout s'en va  
Tout Passes  
L'eau coule, et la coeur oublie . _There was a pause, then he continued, _ Catch me if you can. Au revoir, Slayer.  
_A sneering laugh was followed by the click of the machine.  
  
Holy hell. This had to be our shadow man calling. This was the break we'd been waiting for. Proof. Of course it all led back to the Slayer and L.A. Revenge. Everything snapped into place, clear and deadly.  
  
I snatched the tape out and shoved it into the pocket of my topcoat. No rest for the wicked tonight. She was gonna want to know about this right now.  


* * *

  
I cruised to the Stake. It was late and the place was nearly deserted. ANyanka was on stage hitting the high notes. I wanted more than anything else to be able to crawl between her satin sheets and hide for a while. If we couldn't get this killer off the streets, though, nobody was going to be safe.  
  
That green skinned palooka from Deathwok was still hanging around. I didn't like the way he was leering at Anya's cleavage. I hoped he wasn't planning on making this his latest Hollywood hang-out. He sure had everyone at the Stake jumping to his tune. Half the night crew had come in early and were fawning all over him. Not to mention the local polkiticos were making excuses for dropping around his table. I think I spotted the newly elected D.A., Levinson, giving Krevlorneswath the high sign through the cigar smoke.  
  
Ah well, business before pleasure.  
  
The Slayer was in her office, slouched behind her big desk. Her usually impeccable grooming was absent. The creamy silk of her blouse was marred by dark stains and tendrils of blonde hair had escaped her smooth chignon to hang limply in her eyes.  
She crossed to stand in front of me, her arms crossed stiffly. I could see a wide ladder in her stocking. her eyes were raw, like she hadn't slept in a long while.  
  
  
  
  
I think you should hear this.  


* * *

  
I had a sick feeling in my stomach and it didn't get any better when I saw the look on the Slayer's face. The tape ran out, flapping quietly. Her face was drained of color and her huge eyes looked like black pits in her white face.  
  
How could this happen, Xander? Buffy begged me, It's got to be some kind of sick joke.  
  
What do you mean? We've got the evidence you wanted.  
  
I'm saying Spike lied to me. He didn't die.  
  
What? Who? Are you talking about Angelus?  
  
She didn't answer me. She seemed to be locked up tight. Frozen. I knew just the bare bones of what had happened in L.A. I tried not to think too much about it, either. It had sounded to me like some kind of weird menage-a-trois that ended badly. Maybe it was time to bring out all the bodies and get the straight story.  
  
What was that on the tape, Buffy? That... what was it, French stuff? Was it a some kind of a spell?  
  
Not a spell. Just a reminder , she said, _Everything vanishes, everything passes, water runs away and the heart forgets.  
  
_ Well, color me illiterate, but I didn't have a fucking clue what that had to do with anything, except that she was upset as all hell over it. That was all she had to say about it, too.  
I'm going to put Andrew on that pile of notes you salvaged from Dr. Meers. He owes me, big time. Dawn can ride herd on him, she said after a pause.  
  
Look, maybe we're going at this all wrong.  
  
Wrong? Trying to save him? She glared at me with angry, narrow eyes.  
  
No, I just mean maybe we're not doing him or us any favors keeping him locked up. Whoever is screwing with you isn't gonna make a move while his favorite patsy is incommunicado.  
  
So you're suggesting, what? Turn him loose so this killer can make his point? What if he goes after Anya, Xander? Or Dawn? That thought would give me nightmares for weeks. She hadn't seen Sasha's body and I wished I hadn't.  
  
She turned away and hit play on the tape again. The low voices murmured and she seemed to hear something interesting in the background noise. She played the tape again.  
  
Stay here, Xander. I'm going out for a while.  
Mind if I catch the show?  
  
She shrugged and turned to open the sliding panel behind her desk.  


* * *

  
I was getting quietly sloshed an hour later, when I was interrupted by one of the vamp security boys holding a white cloth to a bloody gash on the back of his head.  
Where's the Slayer?  
  
Out. What's going on?  
He's gone.  
  
She was gonna have my guts for garters. My stomach sank to my shoes. Get your guys, Carlos. I'll find the Slayer and give her the news. I took a deep breath, Bring him in healthy.  
  
Hells bells, Carlos and his crew had a much better chance of stumbling up on him than I did. I pointed the DeSoto toward Restfield Cemetery and thanked my lucky stars i wasn't still hoofing it.  
  
Then, I heard the scream of police sirens.  
  
  
Music: David Sandborn, A Tear for Crystal


	10. Everything Dies

Chapter Ten Everything Dies  
  
Thursday December 21 11:45 pm 

* * *

  
I followed the sirens to Frankenburger's Department Store. The doors were all decorated up pretty for the holidays with fake snow and clusters of colored ribbons. The big display windows were showcasing the kind of fancy clothes you'd need to attend all those ritzy parties uptown. The kind I wasn't invited to. There was a dark smear of something on the glass front doors that looked like a hand prints, and a line of cop cars in front. Probably not the best time to shop for your holiday gifts.  
  
I pulled the Desoto around the corner close to the dumpster. I spotted the ubiquitous Mr. Finn and took a dip around behind the coroner's black van. That's where I ran into my favorite news hound, Webster.  
  
Webs, my man. Hot on the trail of a scoop?  
  
"You got it. Man, it's gruesome in there. Wall-to-wall bloodbath, he was enthusiastically waggling his eyebrows and grinning. I could see the greed for headlines like it was tattooed on his forehead.  
  
Oh yeah? Like what?  
  
Like something with great big teeth and an hour to kill did just that. Paint-by-the-numbers, old buddy. Four or five dead ones from what I could get out of the coppers. He shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the flashing lights. I backed Webster into the alley behind the dumpster. He was still craning his neck for a better look.  
  
C'mon Harris. This is a big story. Pulitzer worthy, maybe. _When Demons Attack!_ I can see it now, front page! Don't hold me up.  
  
Not gonna take a minute. I just want all of everything you've got.  
  
Like I said. Something nasty had itself a little party in ladies lingerie. I didn't get inside. Just took a gander inside the front window. He was champing at the bit, My photographer's on the way...  
  
A low voice from the shadows said, I was inside.  
  
The Slayer!  
She stared at Webster and gestured at him to leave, but they didn't call him the Spider for nothing. He'd glommed onto her and wasn't gonna let go until he had all the dirt fit to print.  
  
Gimme a quote, why don't ya, Slayer. You gonna take out this murdering animal?  
  
Lay off, Webs. I told him. You have got to keep this under your hat for now.  
  
Why should I? This is news.  
  
The Slayer's eyes hardened to stone, Because your life can be real easy or real hard, Mr. Webster. Why not make it easy on both of us?  
  
C'mon, Webs. Be a pal. Get your scoop from the cops and maybe we can make a deal with you later. I gave him my best wheedling voice, Listen. I'll buy you a beer and give you all the stuff you wanted about Congressman Kreflo. I've got pictures.   
  
He wasn't happy, but took off for Frankenburger's. I owed him big time. He was a good guy, though. I hoped he could keep the Wild Irish Potato off my back for a while, too.  
  
She turned to me and continued, I recognized something on the tape, Xander. In the background, I could hear music and an announcement about store closing time. There's not that many places open this late. I figured he was sending me an invitation. That advertisement in the newspaper at Sasha's crime scene had been from Frankenburger's, too. I should have figured it out sooner.  
  
And when you got here?  
  
I was too late. By the time I'd gotten here, he had already been and gone. The clerk, some shoppers, all dead. They were all laid out for me in a row. Wrapped up in ribbons. There was a woman, about my age lying by the front door, like she'd tried to escape. He massacred them, Xander and he made them suffer before they died. Then he   
ripped out all of their hearts. He wrote a message on the wall in their blood. I wiped it off before the police came.  
  
A message! You destroyed evidence! Old cop instincts gagged on that, Do you remember what it said?  
  
I'll never forget it. _Won't it be nice dear Slayer to have the good ole times again?_  
  
Huh, I could see why she wiped that one off. No way did the Mighty Finn need to get his mitts on that kind of explosive ammunition.  
  
I stepped up close to give her a shoulder to lean on, but she stepped back out of reach, her black clothing blending into the mottled shadows. Guess she wasn't feeling up to any kind of comfort right about now.  
  
I guess maybe we need to talk about this, Xander. I owe you that much. You've really been working in the dark.  
  
Then a thought occurred to her, What are you doing here?  
  
Uh oh. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten my original mission.  
  
Spike. He's gone. I don't know what happened or how. I sent Carlos and the boys out to bring him in.  
  
She was furious all right, but at herself.   
  
God! I'm such a fool! She stalked away toward her vehicle, then turned back toward me. He knows me too well, Xander. He's two steps ahead of me. He wanted this. He wanted me to come after him. He expected it. It wasn't me he wanted at all. It was Spike all along.  
  
What are you saying, Buffy? Who is it?  
Angelus. It's Angelus, Xander. You were right, he's not dead. He's out there and he's killing.  
  


* * *

Music: Angelo Badlamenti, from Mulholland Drive  
AN:  
Ripperologists may recognize a few things here & there. Patricia Cornell's latest Portrait of a Killer has lots of new info on Saucy Jack.  



	11. Some Fond Rememberance

Chapter 11 Some Fond Remembrance  
  
  
He awoke to find himself stretched out full length in an alley. There was a rush of wind in the night sky, an icy breath of winter kissing him with sleet. Cold as the grave.  
  
_This is where I belong_, he thought, _the grave. Dead._   
  
He stared into the darkness at the sleeping city. Nothing but alley cats hunting for the rats scurrying in the darkness.   
_Good hunting_, he thought.   
He made a leap for a carelessly disengaged fire escape and leapt up the iron stairs for the rooftops.  
  
_I'm a creature of the night, right. Evil Nothing's gonna change that, not even the Slayer._   
The air smelled of fear. Sweet, and delicious like honey and nutmeg on Christmas morning with a bright tang of old pennies. He fell into the old familiar hunter's stance, tense and focused.  
  
_I'm a hunter,_ he thought. _The taste, the power...I remember that. _He curled his shoulders and felt the bones of his face shift into the ridged alien profile of the demon inside. _The delicious fear. I loved that._  
_  
_ He inhaled sharply, scenting for prey. There was something in the air. Something familiar. _ I recognize that. I know that....  
_  
There was a sting of Black Magic in the air._ Old, dark magic.  
  
Damned if I'm sticking around here. Magic!   
  
_ He lowered his eyes to the streets, the asphalt rapidly glazing over with a quick patter of ice, turning the asphalt streets to mirrors.   
  
_Through a glass darkly_, he remembered. _   
  
_ He stood, teasing out his memories from the snarls and tangles of nothingness, trying desperately to fill the gaps. A watery yellow light crawled around the corners and down the pale, cold sidewalks.  
  
_ Angelus.   
  
Braggart. Always going on about how he'd taken Darla away from the Master. How the Master was so proud of him. The most vicious of us all. Oh yeah, a real prince, he was.  
  
_ He laughed a little to himself as the memories began to trickle back. First a rivulet, then faster and faster. Pictures flooded back of of a demon with an angelic face and the lessons in the poetry of pain hellish days and nights; a family of unspeakable cruelty and passion; and blood, hot and red, surging like champagne on his lips. He fell to his knees and clawed at the roof tiles to keep from screaming aloud.  
  
_Angelus._   
  
_ We were raveners and reavers. There were others, too_, he thought, _two women--one dark, one light. Long years of heaven and hell. Then came the gypsies . A soul, _he thought,_ they cursed him with a filthy soul. He ran from us, his family. Left us alone.   
  
_He pieced together his past from half-remembered fragments and bare bones of memories. The rest of Demon kind had stuttered along, finally to the Great Assimilation. The Peace Accords. _I was there_, he thought with a smile, _in Geneva. There were riots and blood sprayed like fountains in the streets.   
_ Last of all had been the vampires, dragged kicking and biting into peace with the world above Only a few outlaws hunted now. Why should they, when they had what they wanted for a price and no fear of retribution?  
  
_Fox hunters, _he thought_, that's what we are now. Chasing a bag of donated blood and butcher's refuse.  
  
Not me, though._ _I was one of the last ones, a rebel. A Slayer of Slayers. Until the Great Assimilation, the New World Order or whatever the latest name is.   
  
Until I went to L.A. , looking for a trace of my Angel and found the Slayer. Until she asked me for help.  
  
_Then a picture burned its way to his conscious mind. A most hideous sight in his long, monstrous existence. A night in Los Angeles when he had seen the last moments of his angel. The night he was freed of his sire's dominion. Free of his hand, free of his will, never to see the beloved, hateful face again.  
_  
Her! he thought, It was because of Her. The Slayer! It was all her fault. _He caught a hard unnecessary breath and crawled to his feet to roar angrily into the night, a guttural wordless cry of pain and passion._  
It's wrong. I shouldn't love her. The bloody be-damned Slayer. She sent me away, made me leave and then it happened. She caused it all! _He was working himself up into a rabid fury, snarling with an animal rage.  
  
  
Footsteps echoed, a single set of high heels tapping tentatively on the icy pavement. His frozen heart sparked with excitement.  
  
Music: Mark Snow, The Dark Waltz from Seduced and Betrayed  



	12. Everything Vanishes

Chapter 12 Everything Vanishes  
  
December 22   
  
The next morning I was at my office bright and early. I figured a ramble through the musty cardboard boxes of case files Oz had from our basement office in Los Angeles might give me some information about Angelus. Nothing showed, just a few mentions of vigilante justice in the demon barrios, mostly during the late summer. I'd never get the real story from the Slayer. I needed to give a shout to somebody who knew where the bodies were buried--literally.  
  
Hall of Records.  
  
Hidey-ho, Granny.  
  
Harris! You lazy good-for-nothing. What's the weather like in Sunnydale?  
  
Cold as a witch's tit, but I didn't give you a buzz for the weather report.  
  
I laid out what I needed and he laid down the rules.  
  
One o'clock, at _Eats and Sweets_. You remember how to find it, dontcha?  
  
Hell yeah, best dogs this side of the Mississippi. I'll be there with bells on.  
  
I rolled into the city just in time for the lunch rush. That starts right after the morning rush and lets up five minutes before the evening rush. Dang, now I know why I love living in the sticks.  
I found a parking lot close by the Hall of Records and tipped the gray-haired Rabisu a five spot to keep the Desoto close to the front.  
  
_ Eats_ was nearly deserted. It's just a greasy spoon, but Mama Susan is from Chi-town and knows her way around a wiener. I ordered me up a wide plateful, heavy on the fries. Sid Granatello bounced in five minutes later with a shit-eating grin and a fat brown envelope. Granny has worked in the Hall for thirty-five years, and if he can't find it, it ain't there.  
  
Hidey-ho, Xandaroonie! He also always obnoxiously cheerful. He pulled his chubby legs under the table and kept on grinning behind the fluffy white beard. He is a right jolly old elf, really.   
  
Can it, Granny. What've you got for me?  
  
Who's da man, Xan? He waggled his snowy eyebrows at me and slapped the envelope down with a flourish. Hidey-ho, Suzy. Hit me up with whatever the Xan Man is having--on him.  
  
I grumbled a bit for effect, but Granatello always comes through in a pinch. I should have waited to pull out the incident reports until after we ate, but I was feeling anxious. I skimmed through a thin sheaf of papers. I recognized the names of the reporting officers--Goodman and Brown. They hated getting the calls in the barrio. They were piss-poor excuses for writers, too. Full of bullshit and typical smart aleck remarks about the vics at the station house.  
_  
Victims name: Angelus, male, age unknown Marks: Tattoo, right shoulder   
  
Deformities: teeth and forehead Clothing: none Occupation: none   
  
Gang-related/Drug Activity: probable hallucinogenic/ cocaine (uh-huh, it's always the drugs, y'see, causes all those nasty )  
  
Injuries: Serious/Fatal Location of injury: All over (brilliant, Brown)  
No suspects at this time (no, there never are with those kinds)  
Type injury: blunt force trauma to head and face; open bleeding wound in upper left chest; second and third degree burns arms and legs; ligature marks on throat, arms and legs.....  
  
_Blah, blah, blah-de-blah in excruciating detail for another half page. My stomach churned.  
  
Anything else?  
  
Oh yeah. Got some black and whites that'll give ya nightmares. Better wait until we eat.  
I shook my head. I wanted to see them now.  
  
I tell ya what Xander, he was suddenly serious, They're damned nasty. I've never seen anything like them and I've seen some real eerie shit come through my files.  
  
He pulled out the pile of glossy crime scene pictures and I got a shiver that went down my spine and started back up the other way. When the Slayer told me her husband had Angelus tortured, I guess I was thinking something a helluva lot less medieval.  
  
Vampires are hard to kill. You can keep them alive for a long time if you don't shove something pointy and wooden in their hearts. Giles hadn't been in any kind of a hurry. You could barely tell this was a body, much less something that had started out human. Some parts of his body were so horribly mutilated, I wasn't even sure what I was looking at. Parts of his face had been flayed to the bone.   
  
I read through the scene of crime report again. Apparently Angelus had been kept alive for several days. That fit with what Buffy had told me before. Some of the blood was days old, caked and fly-blown. The med's tech report read like something out of the Spanish Inquisition. The victim had still been concious when the team arrived on site and in a great deal of pain.   
Blood spatters reached as far as ten feet off the ground. There were chains and heavy manacles hanging from the ceiling joists that had seen use at some point in the horror show.  
I really didn't want to know any more. I flipped through the rest of the pictures quickly and then I caught sight of a familiar hawk-nosed profile. I tapped the picture with a fingernail and dug out the matching paperwork.  
  
_ Medical treatment: refused at scene  
Next of kin arrived --1830 -- to receive body.   
Victim was released into the custody of cousin, William T. Sanguine for dispersal, at victim's request.  
_  
Oh ho. Spike. His hair was different, but there he was looking like he was ready to kill something--anything. The statement said he'd been in Las Vegas with an associate (see attachment) during the assault. I wondered who the associate was? I flipped over to the attachment. A big wrinkly galoot I knew from Sunnydale--Clement Sharp. I could pry some details out of his rumpled hide.  
  
Granatello was right. I should have waited until after lunch, because I sure didn't have an appetite now. I bought Granny's lunch and packed myself off for dear old SunnyHell.  
  
  
  
tbc 

* * *

Music: Mark Snow. _Caroline at Midnight_ main title


	13. Remember When

Chapter 13 Remember When  
  
December 22 Sunnydale: Just after dark  
  
Clem wasn't all that hard to run down. He was lurking out in the back room of Willy's with a basket full of kittens and a sour attitude.  
  
Why're you gripin' me, Harris. I don't know nothin' from nothin'.  
  
Didn't say you did. Come on, pal, we can help each other out.  
  
I took the basket of kittens out of his hands and sat them on the floor. A couple of the smarter ones scampered away to the dusty corners and stacks of liquor boxes to hide.  
  
Hey, get your tight mitts offa me, man. You're letting my winnings get away.  
  
Catch em later. Tell me about August 7 in Los Angeles, Clem.  
  
Oh man, why'd you want to bring up that shit now. Gawd, that was one nasty mess. I'm gonna have nightmares about...  
  
Spill, Clem. I picked up a gray tabby that was making a move on my ankles and tucked it into my pocket. Clem gave me the evil eye, but started in on the real inside story. Some of it I already knew, mostly the bare bones. Slayer and her husband have a falling out, she takes off for the big city, hooks up with a crime fighting partner named Angelus. Clem gave me a little more than that.  
  
See, I'd been working the Strip all summer. Nothing fancy, just the usual song and dance. Clem was a dip--a pickpocket--when he wasn't running a shell game or some other kind of con. Ran into some trouble outside of Grauman's. A nest of vamps decided to make my lady friend their dinner. I objected, he continued. I was getting the living hell stomped out of me. Probably would have killed me too, if it hadn't been for the Slayer and her boy.  
  
You mean Spike?  
  
No, Angelus.  
  
Tell me about it.  
  
Not really that much to tell. The Slayer was trying to get all the wild ones into line and Angel was helping her. She's out there slaying five, maybe six, a night. She was something to see, that Slayer. Anyway, I guess she felt sorry for me or something, because she hired me to drive for her. I'm not really that good for much in the way of heroics.  
  
She was like that, picking up the strays and the poor useless ones, like me. Like Andrew. She was too good for her own good.  
  
Anywise, we were in one of those gin joints over off the strip one night and Spike just showed up out of the blue. You know how those vamps are. All a bunch of show-offs with their mighty power of.. He mimed a slinking walk.  
  
Yeah, yeah. I've seen him.  
  
I think I hurt his feelings, but he went on, I didn't know who he was at the time. I just figured he was another vamp with a nasty attitude. He and Angelus seemed to be getting along just fine when he spotted the Slayer. It was like he went berserk. Tried to go after her. Angel had to give him a real beating. Buffy, she was gonna slay him right then, but Angel told her it was family business. I guess they worked it out, because before too long, the three of them were as thick as thieves. Every night the four of us went out to make with the slaying. Well, they slayed.  
  
Everything was hunky-dory for a month or so, but then I started getting this funny idea that there was something odd going on with Spike, and Angel was walking around with this permanent snarl. There were a couple of real nasty fights between those two vamps and right around the first of August, Angel sent me and Spike to Vegas. Supposedly a set of succubi running an illegal brothel. I don't know, it wasn't all that important cause, _Vegas, baby_! I love Vegas--it's my kind of town.... he mused.  
  
Could you get to the point?  
  
I'm getting there. Say, do you suppose I could have a ginger ale and some of those cheesy snacks? I'm getting a little hungry. His eyes flickered to the wiggling kitten in my pocket. God! Demons are such a pain in my ass. Nothing but trouble. I gave Willy a holler and ordered up some snacks. After some smacking and crunching, Clem was ready for the next installment of the story.  
  
Well, when we got back, the coppers were already on the scene. Man, I have never seen a mess like that. We'd holed up in this abandoned hotel off Figueroa and there was an ambulance and two cop cars out front of the place. Some flatfoot let us in to identify Angel.. Man, I never threw up so much in my life!   
He looked a little green around the gills right now. Clem took another big gulp of soda and shook himself, wrinkles rippling like a plate of jellyfish.   
He was alive, I mean undead, or whatever you call it. You know what I mean. The flats didn't give a rat's ass about Angel. They just stood around and stared, took a raft of snaps and blew.  
  
Yeah, a 13-13, the department smart asses, like Goodman and Brown, called it: Demon, D.O.A. I figure they all went back and had a real big laugh at HQ. Another demon down, 40 million more to go.  
  
Spike said he couldn't let Angel die there. He wanted to take him to someone who could ease him, he said. You could feel the magic that Giles had used to keep Angelus aware beginning to fade away. Creepy stuff, magic. Anyway, we both figured Angelus was gonna take The Big Dust. I mean, if you'd seen him....   
  
Clem nervously poked at a gob of cheese with a wrinkly forefinger and licked his lips nervously. Spike was crying, man. I've never seen him like that. Off the track. He wanted whoever had done this and he knew who it was. Freakish. We loaded Angel up into the convertible and breezed. He was still awake, though. Spike was covered in his blood. Clem's sad eyes drooped further and he seemed to have lost his appetite.  
  
I thought about those pictures Granatello'd brought me. There wasn't any way anything could have survived that hell and come out sane.  
We drove out to the barrio.  
  
So, Spike saved him?  
  
Far as I know, he croaked after we left him off at the lady's house.  
  
What kind of lady was this? Getting answers out of him was like pulling hen's teeth. Was she a vampire ?  
  
He shrugged his broad shoulders and wrinkles cascaded in fleshy waves. Dunno, might have been, but I thought maybe she might be some kind of a witch. She was really pretty. Dark hair, big eyes. Would have been just about perfect if she hadn't been so tight skinned.  
  
I wondered just what Clem found attractive. In fact, I wondered what the female of his species looked like. Brr, scary thought.  
  
Anyway, she seemed to have been expecting us. She picked him up and carried him inside on a table. Laid him out real pretty, rose petals and everything. I don't know what happened after that. Spike stayed for a few minutes with her and then we took off. He was frantic worried about the Slayer. Guess he figured she needed him now. Spike said this Dru would take care of Angel. I just figured she meant until he dusted, y'know. We burned rubber for Sunnydale and we woulda been there sooner if we hadn't rolled the convertible on the canyon road. Too bad about that. I liked that car. It was a real classic vehicle.  
  
Enough about the damned car. What happened after you got here?  
  
Not too much, I guess. It took a while for Spike to heal up and he'd cooled down by then. Got smart. He and the Slayer met up some on the sly. He kept an eye on little sis for her. Then all the big stuff went down. You know. Yeah, I sure remembered that.  
  
Thanks Clem, you're a good pal to Spike.  
  
So this Dru had taken in a dying Angelus. If she'd been some kind of sorceress, maybe she'd raised him from the dead, the way we'd done with Spike in Arashmahar. Days of torture, though. That had to make a difference. I wondered if this Dru was a good witch or a bad witch? From the looks of this latest massacre, I had to figure she wasn't one to prefer sweet soul-having-helping-the-innocent-lambs, Angel.  
  
tbc  
  
Music: Dizzy Gilliespie, Things to Come


	14. Face Off

Chapter 15 Face Off  
December 22   
  
Murder's bad for business. It doesn't take long for word on the street to get to people. The club was as empty as my daddy's grave.  
  
Security was tight at the front. The Slayer had picked up a few Domovoi and a pair of F'Yarl's. She was taking the threat seriously. The security guys were tense and anxious, their eyes flickering constantly. The band was playing desultorily, and Harry was doing the crooning, hanging onto the microphone like it was a lifeline with a wide mechanical smile on his face.  
  
There was a crowd around one of the front tables and a cloud of pungent cigar smoke fogged the atmosphere. I squinted and focused in on the main attraction. Of course it was Krevlorneswath, his red eyes focused in on Anyanka's slim figure where she was curled in the chair next to his. My Anyanka, crooning something low in his pointed green ear, her white gloved hands trailing seductively through her auburn hair. She was draped in a heavy lace dress that pooled in creamy drifts around her ankles. The bracelet I'd brought her sparkled on her slender wrist. It looked kind of pathetic next to all that glamourous Hollywood style. She was practically crawling into the producer's lap.  
  
On the outside of the crowd, the Slayer watched the room warily. I caught her eye and she stepped over to me. Anyanka didn't even notice I was there.  
  
I talked to Clement.  
  
She seemed relieved not to have to drag out all the old memories again. I suspected she kept them locked away with good reason. The black and whites I'd seen had nothing on being there. I wondered how she could make it from day to day with those kinds of pictures in her head. I hated to do it, but I drew her away, down the black painted hallway to her office.  
  
Xander, I really don't think... Buffy said as she waved away her security detail.  
  
Have you found Spike?  
  
she answered abruptly, I'm not even sure if I still want to.   
  
She looked fragile, the black silk shantung of her dinner gown emphasizing her pale skin. A slash of bright red decorated her drawn mouth and the pearls around her neck were the same color as her flesh. She looked sick, really ill. The horrors were taking a toll on her and she deserved a rest before she broke down Maybe that's what this Angel's plan was. Eat away at her until she disintegrated.  
  
I understood what the problem was and I wanted to help her. There wasn't much of anything I could say, though. Just be her pal, I guess, help her find her vampire, help her kill whatever might be pretending to be her dead lover. We were just outside her office when she stiffened abruptly and swiveled to stare into the shadows.   
  
Hello lover, purred a low voice from the shadows. I looked up at the huge silhouette backlit in in the blue glow of the wall scones. A heavy hand reached out for the Slayer. Did you miss me, lover?  
Her head turned abruptly and she shoved me up against the wall behind her. She was instantly on guard, a Boadicea in Balenciaga.  
  
Get out of my club, Angelus, she snarled, You're not invited.  
  
But darlin', I thought you and I were going to run the club together, he stepped closer to her, into the blue light, Just like we talked about. You remember how we talked about it, don't you?  
  
I tried to push past the Slayer, Leave her alone. He ignored me. Buffy shoved me back against the wall again, hard.  
  
She reached into a hidden placket in the front of her dinner jacket and pulled out a foot long ash stake, polished and ground to needle sharpness. She was poised on the balls of her feet, looking deadly and slightly ridiculous in her little black heels. All of the anger focused in a tight point on the creature that stood in front of her. I got a good look at him. Big, muscular and striking looking, he had a lopsided grin quirking his clear porcelain skin. It was clear what he was, the faint hint of Ireland told me definitely who he was. Not a ghost, the real thing.  
  
He kept talking, and smiling in a way that made me wish I had a stake myself. Don't you remember what good times we had in Los Angles? You, me... my boy William. She clenched her jaw and remained silent, We were gonna be together, baby. You and me, running the Stake together after we got rid of Giles.  
I was going to divorce him, not kill him.  
Didn't work out quite that way, I hear.  
No, it didn't.  
And now there's William.  
She faltered at the mention of the other vamps name, Where is he? Angelus gave a sarcastic little chortle and raised an eyebrow.  
  
How long did you wait before you took him to bed, Buffy? I could see how it was with the two of you. Was is it with you and demons? Can't get enough of the cold comfort?  
  
Shut up.  
  
Why should I? Do you have any conception of what I went through for you?  
  
Angel, I'm sorry for what you went through...   
  
he laughed incredulously, Sorry! You stupid ungrateful little bitch. How dare you stand there and tell me you're sorry.  
  
Her hands were trembling and the stake in her hand wobbled. He was the master of pain, wasn't he? He knew just where to hit the hardest. Tears glittered on her black mascaraed eyelashes.  
  
I did love you, Angel. I did. But I loved my sister more. He had Dawn. I had to do what he wanted.  
  
Dear little Dawn. So sweet and... tender, he smirked and moved closer to her. That was always it, wasn't it? _ I can't leave him, he might hurt Dawn_. _I can't, Dawn might...always some excuse!_ He was snarling the words out and a thought occurred to me. I might be able to get reinforcements if I could get past the combatants. I started creeping sideways toward the main floor. Angel ignored me like I was a spider and kept on ranting, unleashing more of his venomous words, I think you would have actually gone through with everything if he hadn't kept you on the leash with fresh, juicy little Dawnie. Like a peach. I could see a horror run through the Slayer at the thought of something happening to her sister.   
  
He was on her in the space of a single breath, grasping the stake and wrenching it from her nerveless finger, pitching it into the black hallway. He slammed her against the wall opposite, crushing her mouth beneath his, grinding his lips into hers until she bled. Then in an instant, he was gone.   
His voice drifted toward us, Be seeing you around.  
  
She stood there, a trickle of blood on her smeared lips and her face drained of life. She didn't speak, just opened her office door and went inside, locking it firmly behind her. I was left standing there wondering what the hell use I was. Angelus had ignored me completely. I wasn't great shakes at slaying. I decided to earn the money she was paying me.  
  
tbc  
  
Music: Harry Connick, Jr. Cry Me A River


	15. Delerium

Chapter 15--Delirium  
  
The dream images were persistent. Even on awakening, the excitement of his dreams endured, lingering like the tangerine bright taste of someone else's blood on his lips. His sleep had been uneven, and the dreams vivid. Paris in the Monmartre, the cafes and delicate limbs of the peirreuses, long lingering kisses in the darkened alleyways and rendezvous in Pierre-Lachaix. All of the images tainted with the harsh visage of his dreaded and beloved sire, Angelus.   
  
The dry sewers leading into the far deeps of the subterranean world were riddled with dead-end passages like the one he'd nested in for the day. Steam from geothermal vents far below the metal gratings warmed the winter air, and water trickled from a broken pipe into a concrete pool. He doused his face and hair in the chilly stream, as though he could wash away the dreams. He stared into the pool's surface, but saw only the reflection of the steel ladders leading to the suface above.  
  
A whisper of sound alerted him to another's presence in the dim tunnel. He uncoiled like a snake, tensed and readied himself to strike.   
  
Come on out where I can see you. You're not going to spook me.  
  
Never could hide from you, could I, William?  
  
Spike tool a step backward and his eyes flickered along the shadowy walls and he huffed a dry laugh.  
Now that's a good one. What's this then? You playin' at bein' a ghostie, eh?  
  
No joke, William. Just me. A figure wrapped in a long black trenchcoat stepped from the deeper shadows into the silver light filtering down through the metal bars leading to the surface. The faint luminosity outlined the face of his sire.  
  
Y're dead, mate. Dead and gone.  
  
Shhh, Will, you know it's me. Angelus stepped closer and the musky scent of dark nights and wild hunts overpowered him. Angleus stepped closer, his cool breath ruffling the other's pale blonde hair as he spoke, In the too, too solid flesh. Spike straightened and stared hard at the creature confronting him and smiled.  
  
Now boy, who am I? Angelus asked, grasping the younger vampire's throat with an iron hand. Do you know me?  
  
  
  
Satisfied, Angleus turned and began moving toward the passageway. He turned his head and stared behind him at the unmoving Spike. Well, boy? You going to stand around here all night?  
  
But... how? You're...  
  
Angelus laughed, a low malign sound, Funny story. Remind me to tell you all about it sometime. Right now, I've got places to be and people to kill. Don't tell me you've gone all soft along with the rest of demon kind? Don't you remember what times we had, you and I?  
  
God, yes, he remembered. The rush of red life, hot and sharp as broken glass pouring in fountains from the breasts of men. He craved it every day. He couldn't lie to Angelus. He never could.  
  
  
Oh yes, dear boy, I know. How they smelled when they first realized what we were. Spike smiled then, a deadly smile full of sharp teeth and the promise of bloody death. You loved it then, didn't you, boy? Just like me.  
  
he answered in a faint voice, meeting his sires's chocolate eyes with his own, a powerful surge of desire rippling through them both. A lust for pain and death and gouts of blood. Yes, I did.  
  
  
There's my boy. Angelus pulled him into a bear hug, long arms wrapping him tightly as he snapped tiger's teeth in the other's face. I knew I wasn't wrong about you. Forget about the Slayer. We'll be together, the three of us, like we should have been all along.  
  
Their ridged foreheads touched, rubbing like cats, both of them straining in some unpoken need.  
  
Oh William, you've just forgotten how lovely it was. The last soft gasp, the electric jolt of some sweet young thing as she begs to die just before you drain her blood. He paused and showed his demon's face. Young ones, like the Slayer's little Dawnie.  
  
Spike's eyes were everywhere, uncertainty making his movements hesitant.   
  
What is it? Don't tell me--it's the Slayer? Spike's eyes flew wide and blazed with anger, but he held his tongue.  
  
I've got a few more surprises for the Slayer just yet. He examined Spike carefully, the brilliant chocolate eyes flickering over the tensed figure as he chose his words deliberately. Tell me, boy. Just how long did she wait before she crawled into your cozy little crypt? Reckon the girl has a thing for monsters, eh?  
  
It wasn't like that, Angelus. Not at all. She... He recalled how angry he'd been at the thought of the Slayer causing Angel's death, but now? He wanted...he wanted...to kill Angelus himself. Grind his bones to dust. A cruel yellow glow of demon eyes and a crackle of shifting bone as they showed their true faces.  
  
You can't beat me, boy. I made you.  
  
Spike didn't answer, rather leapt and struck at the other like a viper. Angelus was on him instantly,slamming Spike against the metal ledge. The larger, heavier vampire bore down on him, grinding his back into the sharp steel with enough force to slice through flesh. Should have killed me yourself, boyo. Spared us all a world of pain. You tried often enough, didn't ya?  
  
Angelus, I swear, I didn't mean for anything to happen. Not like that.  
  
So it wasn't you who took me to Drucilla?  
  
Spike twisted away, leaping across the grating onto the ladder rungs that led to the upper tunnels. Angelus looked up and huffed out a sneering laugh. I meant to thank you for that, William. Opened some doors for me, dying, being brought back to unlife. I prefer it this way, y'know, without that pesky soul in the mix.  
  
The soul? The curse is gone?  
  
Gone away, he snorted, Gone for good. Now it's just me, just like I always was. The way you wanted me all along. But maybe now, you don't want me back again? Not since you've managed to take everything that was mine. With a wild leap, Angelus had Spike by the collar of his leather coat, twisting and yanking him down onto the center level until they were face to face again.  
  
Angelus, I swear...  
  
Don't bother to deny it. She didn't.  
  
The battle was short and the outcome certain from the beginning. The heavier, older Angelus easily overpowered the younger demon, forcing him, head down, over the edge of the steaming pit. And now, my boy, we begin the last of the surprises for our beautiful slayer. His fist fell again, rolling Spike's limp body in an boneless sprawl against the cold metal wall. Angelus stood and smoothed his hair back, Oh, Dru...  
  


* * *

Music: Nine Inch Nails, The Art of Self Destruction, Part 1


	16. Dear Boss

Chapter 16 Dear Boss  
  
December 23, Just after two A.M.  
  
I don't know how long I stood there in the hallway staring at her closed office door, but there really wasn't any point in hanging around. I strolled out into the ballroom and looked around at the empty tables floating on a sea of black marble. The only thing left from the Krevlorneswath group earlier was the scent of cigar smoke and a dozen empty glasses.  
Anyanka was gone, disappeared, and nobody wanted to tell me where. Probably off with the creep. I was tired of worrying about the whole thing. Love doesn't lead to much of anything, when you come to think of it. Just heartbreak and misery and the occasional dead body. Maybe she was better off with someone like him. Someone who could give her all the pretty things I couldn't. Maybe it just wasn't worth it anymore.  
The club was clearing out, just a few diehards left at the bar swilling down the booze. Harry was banging away at the piano...some old sad tune that made me want to put my head down on the bar and weep for opportunities lost...and my own stupidity.  


* * *

  
I figured I'd swing by the office, check the messages, maybe make a few calls. Just do something useful, even if it was just catching up on the reams of paperwork piling up. The way I figured it, the night couldn't get any worse. I don't know why I even have those thoughts.  
  
There was a call from Webster on the machine. I thought about it for a minute, and gave him a call. Nobody likes to be roused out this late. Tough luck, news hawk.  
'Morning Webs, what didja want?  
  
Harris, I swear to god, He spent several creative minutes thinking up new curse words to call me. I just got home. Whatinhell ya wake me up for?  
  
You called me. Just returning the favor.  
  
Read the paper. he growled, I don't give freebies.  
  
Come on Webs, be a pal... I wheedled.  
  
Okay, okay. There's been another murder, and this time he sent me a souvenir.  
  
Oh brother. I played it cool.  
  
  
  
Yeah. Our guy sent a little gift to my office. He was wide-awake now. Gawd. Sure wish I hadn't been the one who opened it.  
  
I had a bad feeling about this. What was it?  
  
A heart. A human heart and a pair of hands, all wrapped up in shiny red paper and tied with a bow. There was a little ditty addressed to me. That meathead Finn gave me the third all night. Shit, All I did was open the damn thing.  
  
Was there a note?  
  
He read it out to me.  
  
_Dear Mr. Webster,  
Grand work that last job was. I gave them plenty of time to squeal. I'll never forget the way she made me feel. Now I'm going to return the favor.  
I do love my work, so I wrote a little song for you.  
  
Three little girls, crying for their mother  
She might save one, but I'll have the other  
Two little girls, shivering in fright  
Cozy in bed in the middle of the night.  
At the end there's just one,  
Juicy and ripe for my idea of fun.  
Au Revoir, from Hell  
  
_ Don't think I'd ever forget that.  
  
I agreed with him. That was a doozy of a note and there was no doubt who the author was. I'd met the monster face-to-face. He was playing with the Slayer, taunting her, trying to get her to make a false move. Then a thought occurred to me. That last dig at the Stake. Her sister. _Juicy and ripe_. He was gonna go after Dawn, her only weak spot. _ I'll never forget the way she made me feel. Now I'm going to return the favor.  
  
_I hung up and headed for Crawford Street.  


* * *

_  
_  
I skidded around a corner, tires kicking and spinning a bit on a tiny patch of ice around a storm drain. Steam was rising from the underground sewage system, making night driving difficult. As I slowed, I spotted Spike standing under a streetlight. I slowed down and got a good look at him. He looked like twenty miles of bad road, his clothes ripped in places and his black duster gone. Something had given him a beating and they hadn't used kid gloves.  
  
Spike! You okay? The Slayer's been looking everywhere for you.  
  
Yeah. Sure. 'M fine.   
  
What happened to you?  
  
His eyes were smashed shut, his black brows drawn down in a tight, painful line. He pried open his eyes and looked at me and whispered through cracked lips, I need to go..to the Slayer...now.  
  
Okay, we can do that, I said, We've been beating the bushes for you for a while. Where have you been?  
  
He thought for a long moment and sighed loudly, Not sure. Underground, mostly.  
  
He seemed out of it, reeling from exhaustion. I hopped out of the car and pulled him toward the front seat. He half fell inside and pulled the door shut with his right hand. He ws stoic during the ride, unusual from someone whose sole raison d'etre seemed to have been to drive me insane with his never-ending stories. He didn't even badger me into changing radio stations. I turned up the volume to compensate for the dead silence. I tried talking again.  
What'ya get in a fight with? Sea serpent?  
  
He grunted something unintelligible and slumped further down in the seat. I tried another tack.  
Dawn's been asking for you. She's been frantic, y'know. Calling my office a couple of times a day.  
  
He stirred at that and I thought I heard a growl.  
  
The outside of Crawford Street was blazing with light.. Security was tight here, too. I pulled the Desoto up the the main gates of the house. Two burly vampires were on guard, peering through the bars, crossbows cocked and ready.  
  
tbc  
Music: Kofi, Harlem Nocturne


	17. Big Plans

  
Chapter 17 Big Plans  
  
Early Morning December 23  
  
I pulled the Desoto up to the gates and gave a shout to the pair of vampires lurking in the bushes. One of them deigned to listen to me and casually strode up to the gate.  
  
Yeah? What'd'ya want?  
  
Hiya...Look, I need to get inside. Have a little palaver with the Slayer's sister.  
  
The big vamp gave a low growl, echoed by a growl in from my passenger seat. Big and ugly took another hard look inside, then pulled back.  
  
he hissed, low and unfriendly. He didn't make any moves to open the gate though. A suspicious bunch, and probably rightly so.  
  
Listen, this is important. I wouldn't be here this late just to shoot the breeze. Is she in there or not?  
  
Another vamp stepped up out of the shadows, but this one I recognized. It was Norman, the driver from the Stake.  
  
Let im go on in. It's that gumshoe, Harris. Slayer says he's a right guy.  
  
There were growls from the peanut gallery, but Norman slapped them around a bit.   
The gates creaked open just wide enough to squeeze the Desoto through onto the graveled driveway. I parked under the porte-cochere and hopped out. Spike stayed in the car. You not coming in? I asked, Dawn'll want to see you.  
  
This is a bad idea, Harris, he whispered.  
  
What're ya gonna do, I laughed, Bite her? Even as I said it, a horrible thought occurred to me. I didn't have a clue where he'd been or what he'd been doing.   
  
He rubbed the back of his neck, but didn't connect with my eyes. Think I'll go for a walk in the garden. Have a smoke, maybe.  
  
I figured he was uncomfortable around Dawn. Maybe he didn't have any memory of her, or maybe he just wasn't that interested in Buffy's kid sister anymore. Pretty odd, considering.   
  
I pulled my coat closer to me, my breath making steamy trails in the night air. Spike should have been cold, but maybe the dead don't feel things the way we do. I was happy to see the little maid at the front door and overjoyed to get in out of the dismal weather.  
  
My domestic nemesis wasn't all that thrilled to see me this time. I guess she knew I wasn't the candy man by now. I pinched her cheek and chuckled, Don't worry, sweetheart, your ship's gonna come in some day. She slapped me a good one and flounced off, leaving me standing in the library door with egg on my face. My little chuckle turned into a big gulp. Dawn was standing there with with her hands on her hips and a look that promised me deep trouble.  
  
Heh, sorry. Sorry. I'm kinda stupid, sometimes.  
  
she smiled sarcastically, I'm tired and I'm cranky, Xander.  
  
Sorry, again, Dawn. It's...how much do you know about your sister's business. Her personal business.  
What do you mean?  
  
  
  
Who...Angel, you mean? Her old boyfriend from Los Angeles?  
  
He's back  
  
He's dead. She said he...that he died.  
  
Funny thing about vampires. I saw him tonight, at the Stake. Alive, undead, whatever you want to call it. He's gunning for the Slayer. Why d'you think she's got this place locked up like Fort Knox?  
  
I wondered..I mean, I thought, what with the murders and all...  
  
A weak voice squeaked over a tall pile of crumbling manuscripts and volumes of ancient books, Dawn? Is there anything wrong?  
  
No, Andrew. Everything's fine. You just finish up that last reference, okay? I heard his whispery assent and saw a pair of frightened eyes peering at me from the stacks.   
  
Dawn looked at me and drew me over to a pair of dark leather club chairs. She sank down into one and tucked her legs casually under the hem of her charcoal brown flannel shirt. Her wide eyes reminded me of her sister, expectant and a bit frightened. I told her as much as I dared. She knew about the massacre at Frankenburger's and she knew Spike was in trouble, but the Slayer had kept her out of the loop. She couldn't give me anything to work on about Los Angeles.  
  
I wasn't exactly _compos mentis _round about then, if you know what I mean. I vaguely remember being in L.A. for a while. It must have been the summer. I remember the heat. Her eyes grew soft and faraway and I remembered how she looked the first time I'd seen her. Poor kid. I used to live in the guesthouse across the garden. He didn't like me being in the main house. Guess I was too noisy or inconvenient or something. She meant her step-uncle Giles. I had a nurse and everything. Spike came to visit me every night. He told me stories and sang to me when I couldn't sleep. He was like my guardian angel, y'know? She smiled at the memory, her eyes soft.  
  
I used to imagine Spike was my real father, she continued blithely, Him I haven't seen in donkey's years. I think he married his secretary and moved to Spain or someplace.  
  
Uh, Dawn, about Spike...  
  
Dawn! I think you should have a look at this! Andrew called.  
  
She unfolded herself and strode over to the table, the pumpkin cashmere of her sweater as bright as the smoldering fire. I went over and gave the flames a poke. The coals spat and cracked quietly in the near silence of the room. Finally she called me over to join them. It was kinda amazing to me. She was friendly with this witless sorcerer who'd cost her her sanity and nearly her life. She could have blasted him into a Hell dimension now, but instead she smiled at him. Maybe there's hope for humanity after all. Sometimes that keeps me up at night.  
  
She was pointing to a highlighted paragraph in Warren Meers' heavily scribbled notebooks. it didn't make any sense to me, all cabalistic symbols and mathematical equations. Might as well have been in F'Yarl as far as I was concerned.  
  
What am I looking at?  
  
Doctor Meers didn't really have a clue what he was doing with the cup. He just figured he make some fast dough raising zombies for Harmony and her father, then suck down a couple of doses of Live Fast, Be Beautiful Forever serum, sell the formula and live high on the hog. The thing was, the cup had those little side effects. Oh yeah, I remember those. Staring into the thing for four or five hours like an hop-head. That's a big side effect. Magic always has consequences.  
  
Andrew chimed in, Several varieties of psychopathic behaviors are indicated, including monomania, paranoia and the very popular amnesia. All those mania things. He gulped and went on, I'm thinking we could reverse some of that if we could get hold of Spike and work with him.  
  
Is there a potion or something? I peered at the battered notebooks like I could decipher them.  
  
Well, no, Dawn admitted, We were thinking more along the lines of a combination of magic, she pointed to Andrew, and science. That sort of made sense, since that was what started this whole mess to begin with.  
  
How soon can we get started?  
  
I'm thinking we need to get on it today, before he gets past the point of no return.  
  
It might be too late for that. Buffy said...  
  
We have to try, Xander. He never gave up on me and I'm not giving up on him either. She looked more like her sister than ever, her arms crossed on her chest and her chin up defiantly.   
She didn't care what the Slayer thought about this, she was going to get him back the way he had been, no matter what the cost. Guess I'm a sucker for a dame every time. I grinned at her, but the grin slid off my face when I felt the icy wind whistle in from the wide-open door to the garden.  
  
  
Well, gee, Dawnie, I don't think I want that to happen, sweetie, rumbled a carmel soft voice.   
I turned my head to find my worst nightmare facing me. In the doorway stood Angelus, flanked by a pair of enormous demons. Even worse, at his left hand was Spike, game face in place and no spark of recognition in his eyes.  
  
tbc  
Music: Disturbing Behavior, Mark Snow, main title sequence  



	18. A Night Like This

Chapter 18 A Night Like This  
  
Near Daylight, Crawford Street  
  
I awoke to a slaughterhouse. The cold wet kiss of sleet was biting my face and all I heard was the blood roaring in my ears. Bloody hand prints decorated the pristine white of the library walls and broken bits of furniture and the pages of ripped books blew through the room like drifts of autumn leaves. The place was a shambles and I could smell the rank stench of something burning.  
  
Angel hadn't gotten inside, but he'd brought along enough back-up to make that a moot point--some kind of big armor-plated things that looked like cockroaches in lederhosen. Most of the others were vampires. Not to mention his trusty sidekick, Spike.   
  
There was blood dripping from the ragged bite mark on my throat, but I struggled to my feet and fought the wave of dizziness that threatened to put me down like a daisy. Dawn and Andrew were gone. I was the only breathing thing in the room. The little maid was sprawled on the flagstones outside, her throat bitten away. I've seen werewolf kills that were cleaner. Poor kid. She never had a chance.  
  
Two enormous demons had crashed inside and grabbed Dawn. She fought them tooth and nail, but they were just too damn strong. She threw open a portal and sucked one in, but the other one slugged her and she went out like a light. Andrew screamed like a girl and ran for the front of the house. I didn't see anything around that resembled parts of him, so I figured maybe he'd made a smooth sneak. That kid has more lives than Granny Harris' cat.  
  
Spike had been the only one with an invitation, but he'd done plenty of damage all by himself. He went for me first thing, and slugged me a good one in the kisser. I hit the wall like a ton of bricks and stayed there. I tried getting back up, but before I could move a muscle, he was on me, pressing me to the floor with his maniac strength, holding me down until all I could see were his long white teeth.   
  
Call off your dog, Drucilla! Angelus roared from somewhere outside, Make sure the Slayer gets a surprise with this one.   
  
I heard a trill of feminine laughter and a soft voice answer, Bad dog, Spike. You're to give the Slayer a little gift. I wondered what she meant and then I found out.   
  
I remember the sound of screaming and I'm pretty sure it was coming from me. There was something else though. Spike's voice in my ear, just before he clamped down on the skin of my throat. Just a faint whisper, so low I wasn't sure if I'd imagined it. _The factory_. Then he opened a vein on his arm and mashed my aching jaw on it. I spat and gagged, but it was no use. I could still taste his blood in my mouth.  
  
My neck was raw but it wasn't a mortal wound, just a messy one. Spike had left me alive. That meant he had a reason, cause as a general rule, when a vamp goes in for the kill, you wake up dead, or worse. It looked like Angel had meant me to be worse--a vampire... My head was spinning again.  
  
I staggered over to the telephone, but something had pulled it out of the wall, the receiver lying in a pile of shattered fragments on the parquet floor. I told my pounding skull to shut up and went toward the front of the house. I could hear some kind of commotion and I still smelled smoke.  
All I found was a pile of bodies and the staircase engulfed in flames. There was another fire around the shattered front door. Norman had rallied a few of the survivors and was trying to fight the fire.  
  
I coughed and grabbed him by the sleeve, Didja call the coppers?'  
  
What the hell for? They wouldn't bother to show. We know who did it. He gave me a deadly look. I could tell I was gonna take the heat for bringing Spike inside. We take care of our own, man. Spike was gonna be dust if Norman had anything to do with it.  
  
I grabbed a rug and started beating ineffectually at the fire with it, but the battered vampire growled at me again.  
Get the slayer. Make yourself useful. Now.  
  
The Desoto was sitting there in the driveway, albeit a bit more roughed up than usual. I jumped in and floored it for the Stake. I'd let him onto the grounds. If Andrew and Dawn were dead, it was because I'd brought him to her house and led Angelus and his band of killers there. It was all my fault and she was gonna have my head for it, but she deserved to know what happened, even if I didn't.  
  
  
She must have a special slayer-sense for danger, because she was standing in front of the club when I roared around the corner. I didn't even get the door open before she was at the window.  
What is it, Xander.  
  
Dawn. Angelus has her...   
I tried to gasp out the rest of the story, but she was already inside the car, slamming the door so hard the hinges rattled. I think her brain must have quit computing after I said her sister's name. She was focused on only one thing.  
  
We're going to find him and kill him, now. Before he.... She didn't need to finish that sentence. Before he killed her sister if he hadn't already.  
  
Where should we start?  
  
I slowed down at the light and she grabbed my arm with more force than she knew, Think, Xander. Did any of them say anything?  
  
Spike said something, I think. He knocked me across the room and took a big chunk out of my neck, but I'd swear he said something about _the factory_. The interior of the car was silent except for the rasp of sleet on the windshield.   
  
She calculated a moment and her eyes hardened. The factory. There's an old one over on the corner of Gray Street. Spike and I've been hunting there before. I think maybe...   
  
She didn't finish the thought, but I knew where she was going with it. She was hoping he'd given us a deliberate clue--that maybe he was playing along with Angelus for reasons of his own....I wanted to believe it, too.  
  
I was tired and beaten down and there was nothing like going into battle against overwhelming odds when you know you can't win to give you that extra-special feeling. You know the one--Death, despair, what-the-hell-let's go.  
  
You could see the smoke and flames from three blocks away. By the time we got to the mansion, the entire upper story was engulfed and Norman and the few remaining boys were standing around in the cold and wet. It was gonna be nasty today in more ways than one.  
It looked like her pack had been whittled down to four still conscious, and they weren't looking any too good. Vamps and fire? Not the best combination....and hey, that gave me a real idea.  
  
  
Not much help here.  
  
I don't need help. What I do need is weapons. Drive around back to the playhouse. I remember I stashed a couple of things there. She waved Norman and the boys off to find shelter elsewhere for the day.  
What about boys at the club?  
They've split for the day. I don't have time to hunt them down.  
  
No weapons, no backup. Just me and the Slayer against Angelus and whatever he was planning to throw against us. He knew she'd find him. That was what this had all been leading up to. Maybe that was why Spike had whispered to me. Maybe it was a set-up and I was the patsy.  
  
You got any markers to call in? I asked.  
  
Somebody was bound to owe her a favor, but probably none of them included going up against a terror like Angelus.  
  
Not really. Want out?  
  
I'm coming with you.  
  
You'll just be in the way. Why don't you just go home? Take it easy. I could tell she was trying to do me a favor, but I wasn't having it today.  
  
I can help and I have an idea, a good one. Plus, you need someone to get Dawn out if... I didn't want to finish that thought. I could see her thinking about it and she finally nodded.  
  
Okay, but you've got to follow my orders. Y'got it?  
  
You know me, Buffy. Not much with the thinking, but I'm hell on following orders.  
  
She grinned a bit grimly, Yeah, right.  
  
Okay, but first, we need to see a man about some _soup_.  
  
tbc  
Music: Mark Isham, Pittsburgh 1901 edit, theme from Mrs. Soffel


	19. Performance

Chapter 19 Performance   
  
The factory smelled of old fuel oil and rusting metal. It had been a munitions plant during the war, but now it was a rat's nest of discarded wire and stuff not even a desperate ghoul would bother carrying off.   
  
The slayer stepped out onto the platform overlooking the old factory. She had a sword; I was carrying the insurance. It was freezing inside and sleet was trickling down the back of my overcoat. The sun sure wasn't gonna come out today. The snowy light from outside hadn't made a dent in the grimy windows. It was damned dark inside, but someone had lit a blaze in a floor pit and there were figures moving in the murk.  
  
Turn her loose, Angel.  
  
Why, darlin'. Right on time. We've been hoping you'd drop in. He laughed low and unrepentant, hidden away in the shadows.  
  
  
I might surprise you, Angel. She lifted a long sword and swung it in a glittering circle. I stayed hidden in the doorway with my doctor's bag full of goodies while she leaped halfway to the bottom.  
  
Below us, more dim figures materialized in the light. Drucilla appeared, clinging to Angelus. She was wrapped in diaphanous black silk, delicate as a fairy--an evil fairy. Drucilla was followed by a half dozen vampires...and Spike. I couldn't make out any of the big bugs from earlier at the mansion, but I doubted they'd all been zotzed.  
  
I like surprises, darlin',' he drawled, But I'll tell you what I like better. Watching you suffer. He motioned and one of the hard boys dragged Dawn forward. She was battered, her skirt ripped up one side and her face bruised and bleeding, but she was alive. Dawn's hands were chained behind her and leashed to an iron ring driven into the concrete floor. Angelus pulled the girl into his arms and ran a damp tongue down her throat.  
  
Tell ya what, Slayer. I'll give you a fair chance to get her back. He smirked and ran a possessive hand along Dawn's flank, You against your Lover-boy.  
  
You'll give her back?  
  
Sure, baby, I promise. I could see a dark line of blood trickling into the collar of Dawn's orange sweater and I hoped Buffy didn't believe him. She didn't have much of a choice, though. Angelus could break Dawn's neck in an instant.  
  
Drucilla wound herself around Spike, whispering and stroking his face. Dawn was struggling to get loose, but Angelus had her in an iron grasp. Drucilla flicked out a talon-like fingernail and slashed a fresh wound on Dawn's shoulder, then brought her dripping nail to Spike's lips. Angelus roared with laughter, but Buffy's face was unchanging.  
  
Spike's gaze fixed on the Slayer and he unleashed his demon.  
  
I guess I'd never seen them fight, full out, before. It was beautiful in a scary sort of way. They were perfectly matched, two powerful bodies flickering in the half-light, almost like dancing. She spun her sword and went in for the kill, but he was gone. He'd found a length of rebar and met her barrage of slashes with the spinning metal.  
I don't know how long it went on. It seemed like hours. The vampires below were cheering and applauding the battle as he chased her upward into the hanging catwalks and metal stairways that lined the place.  
  
Finally, everything seemed to stop. Buffy's sword hit a concrete abutment and her blade shattered, the pieces hailing down.   
She braced herself and then he was on her, pressing her body into the cold steel of the catwalk. They struggled for a time, and she seemed to give up. He didn't hesitate, but went in for her unprotected throat.   
He had her in a lover's embrace, bent backward and pinned beneath him. Seconds passed, then just as suddenly, she slammed him backward with a flurry of kicks and devastating punches. He tumbled down a flight of stairs and disappeared out and over into the dim clutter below. She stood up and gave Angelus a crooked little grin.  
  
Well, looks like I win. Now give me back my sister. Maybe I'll let you live.  


* * *

  
  
God, you're dumb, he laughed. Rich, lazy....forgot everything you knew about being a Slayer. His caramel sweet voice twisted the words like a noose. You said you loved me, Buffy. Didn't have any problems latching onto the next cold body you could find, though, did you? He absently waved his remaning minions in to attack.  
  
From somewhere in her dusty black jacket, she pulled a pair of stakes and disposed of the minions like so much trash. I used the confusion to slip inside the doorway, creeping into the dark tangle of rusty chains and stacked oil drums.  
  
Buffy leapt to the main level and strode forward, Looks like I win again. Give me my sister.  
  
Can't do that, sweetheart. He stepped backward, dragging Dawn with him into the chaotic dark. He crackled out something in an alien tongue, Besides, I've got a little insurance. The Cockroach Boys scuttled out of the shadows. They'd brought along a few dozen pals, too.  
  
Buffy smiled, Me too.   
I figured that was my cue to step up to the plate. I swung my bag out carefully and tried to look fierce. Angelus gave her a contemptuous glance.  
  
Now that's just sad. You didn't even know he was a vampire, did ya, babe?  
  
Told you I had a surprise for you, honey. Xander?  
  
I started flinging the bottles of soup. They exploded with a wet smack and a deafening boom. The filthy windows shattered and broken glass spattered on the floor. The soup was a potent mix of nitro I'd conned off a yegg I know. Just the thing for bug extermination.  
  
The Roach Boys snapped and crackled as the fireworks hit the creepy-crawlies. Blasted em into slime and little buggy bits. I grinned. It was a good plan. Thing was, I'd forgotten about Spike.  


* * *

  
He pulled himself up onto my landing and fixed me with a yellow glare. Oh shit. I cocked back a fistful of nitro to let him have it, when he hissed at me.  
  
Can you get Dawn out of here, Harris?  
  
I always wear my jaw open with this outfit. I shoulda seen this sweet double-cross coming.  
I nodded dumbly and shut my flap.  
Get it done, then, if you're goin' to. I nodded again. He seemed satisfied and slid back over the edge, creeping around the edge of the battlefield to the Slayer.  
  
Well, yeah, I could do that if I didn't get my ass chewed up first. I stumbled down over the edge and crept forward, ready with the last two bottles of nitro. I slung em hard at the demons and ran to where Dawn was chained. Knew that lock-picking was gonna come in handy some day. She gazed gratefully up at me with her baby blues and I gave her a big grin back.   
  
Nobody much was left to fight. I'd splatted the roach-creeps into bug jelly, Spike had wrestled Drucilla over near the fire pit and it was down to the Slayer and Angelus. Icy rain blew down through the broken windows as they faced off.  
  
Well, darlin', we both knew it'd come down to this.  
  
Yeah, me taking you out.  
  
You can try, he sneered. Angel started forward, but stopped, distracted by Drucilla's shriek.  
  
My Spike! Be a good dog or Daddy shall be cross.  
Doubt it, Dru. Always cross, aren't ya, Dad?  
  
Spike? What the hell is this? I told you to...  
  
Told me a lot of things. Fraid your mojo lost it's juice, Dad. Spike twisted Drucilla's hands behind her back and held her tightly. I'm not your dog. You're on your own.  
  
Buffy laughed, then slammed into Angel with a combination of kicks and punches that knocked him off his feet. He shook his head and rumbled toward her, but she leapt over him. He moved like an injured bull as she dealt him blow after devastating blow. Drucilla screamed and struggled, but Spike was relentless. I finally got the last lock open and helped Dawn to her feet. She leaned on me and we limped toward the ladder.  
  
We looked down to the hellish scene. Fire was spreading into the piles of oily barrels and stacks of old wood. It was gonna light up like a furnace.  
  
The Slayer had Angelus pinned down and he was clearly beaten. Her tiny figure stood above him, the raw power pouring from her in waves. How in the hell had he ever thought he could defeat her? He tried to crawl away, but she strode closer, shaking her mane of blond hair away from her cold eyes.  
  
Buffy, he murmured, You and me... we were...  
  
It's over.  
  
His eyes were blurred and I couldn't tell if it was tears or the sleet falling through broken glass. You and I...we could have gone places...the world would have been ours...I've seen things you couldn't imagine...  
  
I've seen things, too. Ugly, monstrous things. Sick games and torture.   
  
He kept crawling backward to where Spike held Drucilla prisoner, his dark eyes flickering, searching for a way out or maybe a weapon.  
Things began to happen all at once.  
  
Spike gazed into Drucilla's mad eyes and stroked her tangled hair. Poor Dru, he whispered as he pulled a stake from his jacket.   
  
Drucilla pulled away, her clawed hands leaving bloddy furrows in Spike's flesh and staggered toward the fire pit. She gathered her strength and pointed a hand at Spike, muttering the beginning of a spell. Her long trailing draperies swirled in the breeze from the shattered windows... directly into the hungry fire. Drucilla screamed in agony and reached out a burning hand for help, but she went up like a Roman candle before anyone could move. It was sickening.  
  
Angelus groaned and looked to Spike for help, but those blue eyes were merciless.  
  
He gave her a despairing glance, but she looked upward to where her sister stood bleeding and drove the stake through his heart.  
  
  
tbc  


* * *

Music: Bjork, An Army of Me / Crystal Method, Weapons of Mass Destruction


	20. Postscripts From the Edge

Chapter 20 Postscripts From the Edge--Epilogue  


* * *

The Slayer helped her sister outside and into my rattletrap of a car. I was standing there a bit stunned and realized I'd made it through another sunrise in Sunnydale. Well, relatively speaking, since the clouds were so low and black it looked like nighttime. Maybe it wasn't gonna be such a rotten day after all. The bad guys got dusty and we'd saved the day again. One thing was sure, she wouldn't ever be the same. Maybe none of us would.  
  
I was damned tired. I could hear the sirens in the distance and I wondered if anyone had gotten the fire out on Crawford Street. If the Slayer was lucky, she'd be rid of that albatross of a house. One less thing holding her here. Buffy'd sure made a clean sweep of her past tonight--or today. Whatever.  
  
It was Christmas Eve. Happy frickin' Holidays. Ho, ho, ho.  
  
I was still feeling a little light-headed, or maybe the holiday blues were getting me down. Spike was staring back at the burning factory with a sad, lost look. We stood there and watched it burn, until with a final sulfurous belch, the whole thing fell inwards. Musta been weird for him, too. He hadn't said more than a dozen words to anyone.   
  
The bitter cold wind squirreled up my coat and hit the gash on my throat like a bolt of electricity. The bite was aching in the frigid temperatures and it was time to go home. Then I had a thought. Something had been bothering me and I needed to know the whole truth.  
  
Hey, uh, Spike. I gotta question and I need a straight answer.  
  
He looked cranky. Yeah, I remember everything now.  
  
No, not that question. Am I gonna be a vampire?  
  
He cracked a smile and shot me a odd look, Doubt it. Why? Fancy yourself as a vamp? Prolly make a fine one...  
  
Uh, no. I mean, NO! Not that kind of guy. At all. I hastily amended that idea, I just thought since you and I... He gave me that quirky eyebrow thing again and a sideways smirk. He wasn't gonna make this easy for me. The blood and all that, from earlier...when you...and with the biting...  
  
He was merciful and cut me off before I sounded more like a dope than usual. No, Xander. You're not going to be anything but a pretty good gumshoe, far as I know. I was just playing along with Angelus.   
  
On the square?  
  
Honestly, I doubt it. You just don't seem dead enough to me.  
  
Well, good, cause I'm not really an undead kind of guy. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just the whole blood drinking thing...  
  
he grinned like his old self, Not your cup of tea.  
  
Oh, good. I guess I didn't need to know anymore right now. I was jingle-brained and tired to the bone and all I really wanted was to sleep until New Year's.  


* * *

  
My apartment had that stale, neglected smell.  
  
Well, that and the fact that I hadn't put out the trash for a week. The dust bunnies had multiplied astronomically and the inside of my icebox was as empty as Grant's Tomb.  
  
One of these days, I oughta do something with this flop. Maybe decorate or get a cat. Or at least hang up my clothes. I threw my jacket in the general direction of the closet and kicked off my damp brogans. Through the Venetian blinds, I could see the flickering holiday lights still burning cheerfully. The palms had a thin glaze of ice and a haze of snow was starting to blow across the horizon. The Hellmouth, weird weather capital of the known Universe.  
  
I needed to get a real life, not just hang around the Slayer's coat-tails and hope for a job to fall in my lap. No wonder Anyanka dumped me for Mr. Rich Demon Guy.  
  
I guess that's how the story ends. Me all alone on Christmas, same as always.  
  
I slumped on my mattress, trying to work up to forty good winks, but the sheep weren't being cooperative. Maybe a slug of good Kentucky would put me out. Or maybe there was a jelly doughnut in the breadbox. I ratted around in the cabinets until I found a bottle with a couple of ounces of Jack inside. I poured myself a stiff one and made a toast to my reflection in the grimy window. Yeah, you made it through another one, and here you are. I tossed back my drink and pitched the glass against the wall, but it bounced on the rug and rolled under the sofa.   
  
I started to the icebox when a soft sound and the scent of jasmine told me I wasn't alone. Great, like this day hadn't sucked enough. Anyanka.  
  
Come to tell me goodbye before you're off with your pal Krevlorne? Someplace warm and cozy, like Bermuda. Couldn't blame her, really. Some girls have all the luck and she was one of them. I should never have fallen for her.  
  
She swayed toward me, her slim figure outlined in the foggy light trying to seep through the bent edges of my kitchen blinds. I had to blink again to make sure I wasn't seeing things.  
  
Maybe. Maybe I wanted to run my fingers through your hair.  
  
Quit playing around, Anyanka. You're leaving town. Just make it quick.  
  
You're a good detective, Xander. Yeah, I'm leaving for New York. Broadway. Lorne's got me the lead in a new musical.   
  
Figured. Sunnydale's not big enough for you.  
  
Is it big enough for you?  
  
What do you mean?  
  
Oh, you can be so dense! Do you want to come with me?  
  
I sat down. Unfortunately the chair had gone missing and I sat in the floor. She giggled and put out a hand to help me up.  
  
Alexander Harris, I'm crazy about you. She smiled at me and started undoing her buttons and sliding the silk gown off her shoulders. I flopped there like a stunned turtle.  
  
  
You are?  
  
Yeah, ya big palooka. She hung a couple of big kisses on me and we managed to stagger into the bedroom after a while. We finally got up around sunset, and she made me coffee and rousted out that elusive doughnut while I talked.  
  
I clued her in on what'd been happening around town, but she was pretty blasé about it. Thousand years of demon living, it takes a bit to surprise her. She grinned and kissed me again.  
  
It won't be all moonlight and roses, Anya.  
  
I know, She whispered as she wound her arms around my neck, It'll be hard and I might want to kill you... which I won't.......but you and me, we've got something right. I felt her warm coffee scented breath on my lips and her soft hands threading themselves in my hair. Now, undress me again. I want to spend Christmas with you.   
  
Now, this is how the story ends.  


* * *

  
  
Music: Love Theme OST for _Bladerunner_, Vangelis & Nothin' New for New Year, Harry Connick, Jr.   
I hope you've enjoyed this thing. The music was probably my favorite thing to do. . Hope you did too. Thanks for all the reviews. Peace, Love, & Music. I'm going to miss this Verse.


End file.
